Contrasts
by kamelion
Summary: Atlantis wishes to negotiate a weapons trade with a sophisticated society. This society proves to be more than they bargained for. Teamfic wCarson.
1. Chapter 1

**Huge thanks to Ellex, Patricia, and Cheryl for putting up with me. And thanks to everyone out there who puts up with me, for doing so. LOL!_  
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** The verses from the Tao are not all complete, so please don't take them as such. In some cases I used excerpts. Also, I've been informed that there are a few grammatical errors, the kind that spell check doesn't catch, so I ask that you excuse those. I also ask that you leave feedback simply because I can't improve my writing if I don't know how it is coming across to the readers. :) I warn you now, this thing is infected with symbolism. Applauses and criticisms welcome. Enjoy, and thanks! -Kam :)**_  
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_The tao that can be told_

_is not the eternal Tao_

_The name that can be named_

_is not the eternal Name._

_The unnamable is the eternally real._

_Naming is the origin_

_of all particular things._

_Free from desire, you realize the mystery._

_Caught in desire, you see only the manifestations._

_Yet mystery and manifestations_

_arise from the same source._

_This source is called darkness._

_Darkness within darkness._

_The gateway to all understanding._

_-Tao Te Ching 1_

"Welcome!" The man that met them at the gate was tall, and dressed in a long, dark grey suit which complimented the towering buildings that surrounded them. The whole image was that of a linear scene of blacks and greys and whites, like a uniform sculpture. He extended his hand, yet another line in amongst a geometrical form. "I am Legit Barial, overseer of the Barus population." His face was small, his eyes and mouth large. Pale skin stretched thinly over an angular bone structure, giving the appearance of a living skeleton.

"Colonel John Sheppard." John shook the hand, taking measure of the surprisingly firm grip in such a fragile-looking man. "This is Teyla Emmagen, Ronon Dex, and Dr. Rodney McKay."

The Legit shook hands in a formal and friendly way with each team member, eyeing them steadily, sizing them up. "I'm glad you are here. It has been a long time since we have had visitors. I'm afraid we operate under a rather strict code that turns away anyone who might travel here for any purpose other than business." His voice had an odd cadence, almost an unnatural sing-song, one word melding with the next like hot steel.

His comment didn't surprise John. His hands unconsciously crossed over the area where his weapon normally would be as he shrugged. "Well, seeing as how we are here for business, I think we're up to the challenge."

The Legit smiled. "Of course. Please, follow me." He made a curt gesture to the suited people that had gathered behind him, and they scattered in different directions with a very professional gait. He turned on his polished heel and started toward a thin alley bordered by two thick buildings.

John glanced back. "Hey, Rodney," he muttered, "whatcha think?"

His friend was taking in the area with a frown. "I feel like I just stepped into a stiff Armani suit."

"They seem very . . ." Teyla gave a nod, unable to find the word she needed.

"Stiff?" Rodney supplied as he walked by.

"Fake," Ronon said flatly.

"Come on, guys," John scolded lightly, "we just got here. You heard Elizabeth back at the briefing. She did say this is a very professional world, and that they do things here very . . .professionally."

"What do they do," Rodney muttered over his shoulder, "print stock tickets for the entire galaxy? It looks like we've just walked into the largest trading firm this side of two galaxies." His voice echoed as the two towers that marked the entrance to the square started to close around them. His line of sight bounced around the walls nervously, visually trying to take the words back.

"She wasn't kidding when she called this place the business hub of the whole planetary system," John said. "I just wish we could've brought our weapons."

"I've got mine," Ronon said.

John turned. "Well, don't let them know that!"

"I don't plan on it."

"Oh, please" Rodney moaned over his shoulder. "What are you going to do, use the strips in a ticker tape parade for target practice? Take down a couple of printers?"

John just shook his head and followed the legit through the buildings. What unfolded before them made them take pause.

It was a scene from a bustling, overpopulated earth city, only there was no chaos in the motion, and very little noise. These people knew exactly where they were going, and did so in smooth, straight lines. There were a few motor-type vehicles on the streets that resembled military jeeps, but for the most part everyone walked. And they walked with their heads held high, with purpose in their step, and without speaking.

It was mesmerizing, to say the least, and rather disconcerting. Rodney found himself caught up in the motion and took one step too far into the wave of people that passed before him. Like seaweed caught in a current, he was sucked in and swept away, unable to force his way back through the mass. The surprise on his face could be seen for only a moment, then was hidden. "Um, a-a little help here?" he called out between the shifting shoulders of business suits.

"Leave it to Rodney," John sighed, and forced his way down the street, staying on the edge of the river of people, seeing Rodney peeking as best he could over the push that was leading him away. "McKay!"

"Let me," Ronon practically growled, and dove into the people, a brown boulder plunging into a grey cascade.

With McKay's dark Atlantean gear, he blended in more easily than expected, but Ronon was able to find him merely by zeroing in on his sense of panic. He suddenly appeared beside the startled man and shoved roughly him out of the crushing crowd, not caring who he had to knock over to do it. They slammed into a metal wall with all the force of being flung from a waterfall. The breath was knocked from Rodney, who did his best to complain, but Ronon remained pressed against his back, waiting until the crowd behind them thinned. It did so with startling speed. The mass suddenly streamed into the buildings that lined the streets, and all of the doors closed at the exact same time with a resounding thump that echoed over the silence.

Rodney and Ronon both looked over their shoulders in amazement at the streets, empty but for one person standing there like a still tumbleweed in a western film. John and Teyla caught up to them, but said nothing as the legit, obviously not concerned by the events, merely beckoned for them to follow.

"You guys okay?" John finally managed to ask as they walked to catch up with the man who was heading back the way they had come, passing the two tallest buildings.

"Yeah. Great." Rodney was no longer so adamantly curious. He hung back slightly, lest he make another foolhardy mistake.

"These people seem very efficient," Teyla remarked.

"Efficient isn't quite the word I would choose," John said. "Freaky is more like it."

"We better figure out just when they do this, so when they're released we can avoid the madness," Ronon added.

John nodded, trying not to linger on the word 'released', and looked up at the tall, grey buildings that lined the streets. They seemed to quiver, as though the multitude of people that entered had filled each one to bursting. As they passed one of the two tall towers that had marked their arrival, John found himself looking back toward the gate. He stopped his team. "Hey guys? Hold on."

They followed his glance, then stared in astonishment. It hadn't occurred to them to look at the gate when they had come through, it was a familiar enough sight, and having the legit there with his party to greet them was a distraction. But now they looked, and the sight unnerved them.

The normally round, elegant gate, was squared.

Rodney took a few steps toward it, then hesitated and looked back at the legit. The older man was waiting patiently, not seeming to care in the slightest that the new arrivals were discomfited by the different gate. Rodney's eyes slid to Sheppard's. "They're all alike," he said. "Everywhere we go, the gates are the same. I mean, same basic structure, same mechanism . . ."

"Apparently not," Sheppard said, rather predictably. He started toward the gate, and felt a tug on his arm.

"Not now," John said without looking back. "You can examine it later."

Rodney opened his mouth to protest, and closed it in irritation. John nodded and gently pushed the man in front of him. He was damned curious as well, but now wasn't the time. Not with their guide steadily walking further and further away. But curious, yes. "Hey Rodney," he quipped quietly, "ever been down a rabbit hole?"

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"You will need these to access areas of importance." Legit Barail tossed small key cards onto the long table. They glistened in the streaming sunlight with a thin metallic sheen. "Be sure not to lose one. It will not be replaced. All codes will be changed, and all access will be lost to you. You will be forced to return through the gate. Is that understood?"

"It is, thank you." John reached out slowly and with a sweeping motion of his hand, pulled the cards toward him. He took one and passed the others to Rodney, who was sitting to his right. Rodney took one with a cautious frown and passed the other two to Teyla. She handed one to Ronon, who pocketed it without a second glance.

The legit smiled at them from across the table. "Now. I have sent for some refreshment, so let's settle down to business. You have heard of us through the Amari, is this so?"

John leaned forward and threaded his fingers together. He sent a quick glance to Teyla, who had also leaned forward and had assumed her negotiation persona. "Yes. We visited their world to help a friend, and he told us of this place. I believe you know of a man named Malachi?"

"I do."

"He was the one that recommended we come here."

Barial leaned back. "Ah, Malachi. It has been such a long time."

"How long?" Rodney asked, ignoring the pained look from Sheppard. He merely raised a brow. They both knew that Malachi was much, much older than his looks revealed.

"I first met Malachi in the Sapora system. He fell in love with a woman who was visiting one of the lesser planets, and moved back with her to her own world." He slowly reached out for a thin cigarette that sat on a metal dish, then reconsidered. "This life wasn't meant for him. He couldn't keep up the pace." John found that easy to believe.

"Everything here does seem to operate with a high level of efficiency," Teyla remarked cooly. "Perhaps you can tell us how you manage that?"

Barial smiled thinly. It took up the whole of his small, skeletal face. "First, I wish to understand why you are here before I reveal such to you. How am I to know you are not here to sabotage our designs, or steal what is ours to use against us?"

Somehow the thought of waging any sort of attack on this place was laughable. John likened it in his mind to attacking an armored car with a toothpick. He looked at Teyla, giving her the cue to continue, and she did with authority. "We are here in good faith, I assure you," she said firmly. "I can understand your concerns. I also know that you have talked with Dr. Elizabeth Weir extensively before our arrival, so having us tell you again what you already know to be true is not only wasting our time and yours, but might be regarded as an insult. We are not in the habit of repeating ourselves."

"Easy, Teyla," John said, hiding his surprise. Even Rodney had sent her a sharp look.

But Barial's smile grew. "Very good. Your Dr. Weir was right when she said she would send a shrewd negotiator in her place. I can see you will speak your mind fairly." Teyla merely raised her chin, allowing her eyes to fall to the table as she sat proudly. She didn't look at her team.

The legit stood and pressed a small back button. The far wall gave way to graphs and lights and maps that made no sense to the newcomers. "This is the Grid. This represents where our action excels, and it relays our agenda. This is but one of thousands, and merely shows what is happening within this sector of the city. The Block has direct access to all screens."

"And The Block would be . . .?" John asked.

Barial turned. "Our governing party."

"Of course."

He smiled again. "I am surprised your Dr. Weir didn't mention them."

John met his gaze evenly. "I ask for verification purposes only."

"I see." His eyes probed the colonel before returning to the screen. "The Block is the deciding factor in all circumstances. The Block is responsible for us, and it is through these screens that we are able to keep touch and keep everything moving."

Rodney shifted uncomfortably and leaned toward John. "I think these people have been assimilated," he muttered.

John cleared his throat over Rodney's comment. "I can see all this," he waved at the screen, "will take more explanation than we probably have time for," John said, "so why don't we cut to the chase. Are you going to help us, or not?"

The legit raised his chin. "You want to examine our technology, do you not?"

John leaned back, flipping his palms upwards in submission.

The legit nodded. "I suppose it would be easier to just show you around. I understand you are interested in the unfortunate past of our warfare?"

"I have it on good authority that you possess weapons which may be of help to us."

Again Barial smiled, and John was beginning to hate the sight of it. For some reason it set him on edge, like that fragile face before him would crack and reveal something nasty. "We have many that are out of commission. We also have many that have the power to destroy this world, as well as your own. Are you sure this is what you want?"

"It is."

"And may I ask why?" The legit smiled thinly. "You will excuse if my question seems rather personal, but we are talking about weapons. How am I to know you will not use our generosity against us?"

"There is an enemy. The Wraith. You have heard of them?" Teyla let her question linger.

"Ah, yes. I see. And you need a way to defend yourselves."

His nonchalant manner about the Wraith disturbed John. "We just want to see what you have," he responded slowly.

"Of course. And there is more." Barial looked at Rodney, who shifted.

"There is?" Rodney asked.

"There is always more."

"Oh. Yes. Well," Rodney rubbed his thumb against his forefinger nervously, "your technology is obviously more advanced than what we are accustomed to."

"It is."

Rodney said nothing more, just let the statement hang.

The legit stood. "I will show you what you wish to see, with the blessings of The Block. But first, I have been asked to show you to your rooms. You will stay here, we have living accommodations on the top floor for our honored guests."

The phrase 'honored guest' brought a touch of ease to John's face. "Now this sounds more like it," he said. "Lead the way."

Barial nodded and pressed the panel beside the door. It slid open gracefully and efficiently. "I have also taken the liberty of providing you with the uniforms of our district so that you will not be stopped and troubled by unnecessary questions. There are several sizes and styles to choose from, you may take your pick."

"Resistance is futile," Rodney muttered, and received a sharp elbow from John.

"Thank you," he said, giving Rodney a look that plainly said, 'shut up'. They boarded the elevator unit as a group, and proceeded to lose their stomachs as it shot to the sky.

The doors opened to a much brighter beige corridor, bookended by huge glass windows. The legit signaled for John's access card, and pushed it into the slot. "Another reason not to lose this," he said casually as he pushed the door open, "there is a lot of useful information in here."

"I'll keep that in mind," John said, taking the card back. He fully expected for the rest of the team to be lead down the hall, but they stayed. Feeling like he was letting people into his own private area, which was a place even _he_ hadn't seen, he entered.

One side of the wall was made of windows overlooking the city. The room was beige like the corridor, surprisingly, not the constant grey that seemed to decorate the world. There was some art work on the walls, metallic sculptures of lines and angles that essentially mapped the framework of the city below them. And the sight below them . . . .

Rodney took once glance, and turned green. "Uh, just how high up are we?"

"This is the tallest building in the city. From here," the legit walked fluidly across the room and looked down, "you can play God."

"Or The Block," John supplied.

He turned slowly. "Exactly."

John walked over and tested another door, which was locked. Rodney was still obsessing over the height of the suites. "Does - does my room have the same view?" he asked the legit, a bit shakily.

"All rooms are identical."

"Oh." Rodney instantly paled and sank into a chair.

John grabbed him by the elbow and pulled him up. "Oh, go on, Rodney. Maybe there's a hot tub."

"Yeah?" It took only a moment for John's comment to process before the thought occurred to Rodney to check, now, and he hunted out John's bathroom area. He returned with a smile.

"What is this 'hot tub'?" Teyla asked, taking the pleasure on her teammate's face.

John refrained from telling her that he would be happy to demonstrate, and merely sent the legit a pointed look. The legit gave a slight bow in agreement and ushered the others out. "Hey," John called to their backs, "reassemble in one hour, right here."

As it turned out, John found he couldn't wait for an hour to do anything. He was restless, and knew his team was as well. The clothes that had been laid out for him were comfortable enough, considering they were all suits. He chose a dark, crisp cut that made him want to don midnight tinted sunglasses and strut alongside Will Smith and Tommy Lee Jones to the strains of 'Men in Black'. He gave the suit a tug, spiked his hair with deft precision, and examined himself in the mirror. Then he walked out and hesitated at the door next to his. There was no way to enter, not unless . . .he pulled out his card and studied it, then studied the odd markings on the door. He turned his card over, and swiped it through. The lock clicked open.

Security, be damned.

He walked in cautiously, not knowing which of his team members had shacked up beside him. Seeing a door that corresponded with his own, he decided the two separate rooms were actually a double room, with an adjoining door that was locked. That would explain the behavior of the card. There was a faint vibration beneath his feet that told him not only where the room's occupant was, but who it was. He walked into the bathroom without ceremony and scared the shit out of Rodney McKay.

"DO YOU MIND?" the man shrieked, and pulled his only towel into the swirling water, covering himself.

"Relax, we all know the effects water has on . . ." John drawled impishly.

"Oh, you are so juvenile!"

John just laughed as he sat on the edge of the hot tub. "Jesus Rodney, you just couldn't wait, could you?"

"Hey, with our track record off world, I figured I should do this while I was still in one piece, okay?" He glowered, trying to keep the towel from swirling away from his nether regions.

John just shook his head in amusement, taking in the broad frame and the angry eyes. "I could've been Teyla."

"I wouldn't be so lucky."

"Surprised you didn't offer to show her what a hot tub was. Then again, you always have been a greedy sort."

"Are you finished?"

John tapped his watch as he stood. "Ten minutes, you need to be dressed."

"I'm getting out! Would you?" He made an impatient gesture towards the door. And reappeared moments later wrapped in a soaked towel with a grumpy expression on his face.

John sighed and found the linen closet. "Here." He tossed a fresh towel to his friend, then eyed the suits. "You prefer black or grey?"

"Depends on the cut," a disembodied voice said. A moment later, Rodney walked out, this time wrapped in a dry-ish towel. He eyed the suits. "You haven't left yet."

"Been so long, I thought maybe you forgot how to put one of these things on." John pulled out a dark grey and held it up.

"I'd think Ronon would need the help, not me." Rodney snatched the suit from John and made the mistake of looking out of the huge window beside the bed, and swallowed heavily. He backed away. "Why'd they have to put the bed beside the window?"

"You kidding? That's a killer view!"

"Exactly. Move it for me, will ya?"

"What?"

"Colonel, please. I-I can't sleep over there."

John sighed and shifted the bed to the far wall. Fortunately the frame was on rollers. "Better?"

"Now get out so I can change."

John merely turned his back, and smiled at the disbelieving snort behind him. After a moment he heard the sound of one leg sliding quickly though crisp material. "Truth is, I wanted to talk with you before we all met up."

There was a hesitation, a faint rustle, and a surprised, "yeah?"

"Yeah." The rustle stopped, and John turned. "Huh. Never actually seen you in a suit before."

"Enjoy it while it lasts." Rodney said, tucking his shirt into his pants. The grey was just a shade darker than his SGA suit. The lines were crisp and the color set off the lightness of his eyes. "What?"

"Don't know." John stood before him, analyzing, then gave a nod of approval. "You look good."

"You think so?" Rodney straightened his collar and walked to the bathroom mirror.

"Yeah, I do." He picked up Rodney's jacket and helped him shrug it on. The shoulders were brushed down. Then he regarded their reflections, standing side by side. "Elizabeth needs to see us now."

"She'd never believe it." Rodney rolled his shoulders back. "Damn, we do look good, don't we?"

"That we do."

"Think I see why they all wear suits here." He rolled his shoulders again. "This feels good. Wonder what Ronon looks like?" The question was innocent enough. Dreads and all that, Rodney wasn't expecting much.

But then, this was Ronon. The thought had them exchanging glances and hurrying out of Rodney's room.

The result was, in a word, debonaire. It wasn't right for a man to clean up so well. His black suit accentuated his tall frame, his unruly dreads were neatly pulled back tight behind his head. His shoes were polished. Rodney looked down at his boots. "There were shoes?"

Ronon glanced down at Rodney's filthy boots, and raised an eyebrow.

"Be right back." He turned and was stopped short at Teyla's arrival.

Her skirt was just right. It was straight, not too short, not long, just above the knee. Her legs, her waist, her breasts, everything looked just as it should on a woman, and then some. The men would have been totally flummoxed if not for her tripping steps in her high heels.

She leaned and fell onto Rodney's arm, and pinned him with a glare. "Tell me you do not torture the females of your world in this manner."

"I . . ." he looked down at his boots and carefully handed her off with an apology.

"Only heels?" John asked.

"You look hot," Ronon said helpfully. Teyla responded by stripping her shoes from her feet and snapping the heels off. Then she broke the shanks of the shoes until they lay flat on the ground.

"Until I find a suitable substitute," she said, forcing her feet back in, and stormed into John's room.


	2. Chapter 2

_The more prohibitions you have,_

_the less virtuous people will be._

_The more weapons you have,_

_the less secure people will be._

_The more subsidies you have,_

_the less self-reliant people will be. _

_-Tao Te Ching 57_

Their assignments were clear, and not unexpected. Sheppard and Ronon would check out the militia. Rodney would accompany them. Teyla, on the other hand, was to go to the hub of the planet's trading center to prepare for negotiations, depending on if what the rest of the team found was worthy for trade. And so again she found herself riding in one of the cramped elevators that made her more uneasy than she cared to admit, in a building that looked like the others, only in the center of town. Once her stomach had caught up with the rest of her, the doors opened and frantic noise assailed her senses. She walked out into organized chaos, and yet again questioned Elizabeth's decision in sending her to negotiate, rather than Weir taking the matter upon herself.

She remembered feeling proud, yet slightly confused when Dr. Weir had announced that Teyla would be handling the initial trade negotiations in Weir's place, due to an unexpected visit from the SGC, which Elizabeth refused to elaborate on. Their duty was to examine the weapons and see if they were worth the time. She already had a feeling that they would be. From what little information they had received, the planet had a lot to offer them. Even the name, Barus, held a certain power about it. She could almost sense the strange aura the place exuded, and she couldn't identify it. It felt like chewing plastic, and the scene before her did little to ease her anxiety.

Everywhere people were talking, all at once, and didn't seem to be listening to each other. Hand symbols flashed through the air, acting as some secondary language to the one spoken, and even that was foreign to her. She stepped slowly, still adjusting to the new shoes provided for her. The legit had been kind with her request. These shoes were lower, but very slick. How were people expected to work efficiently if they had to be wary of every step they took? Quite literally?

She watched the melee for several moments before spotting a woman with her hair severely pulled back. She seemed to be the one the other people responded to as she ran from screen to screen, tapping on the keyboards and pushing away fingers to do so. There was a small writing implement tucked behind her ear, and she carried a small notebook in one hand. Teyla raised her eyebrows, and called out politely, but the woman paid her no heed. In fact, she dashed past and entered a room, slamming the door behind her.

She took a chance, and stepped out into the rush, reaching out to touch a man's arm. "Excuse me . . ."

He looked at her, shoved her hand away in great irritation, and walked on.

Teyla was not deterred. In fact, she was annoyed. Raising her voice, she stopped another man. "I am here to conduct negotiations, can you tell me . . ." but he shoved her off as well. She huffed and forced herself to remain calm, continuing to walk onto the floor until she came to a sort of railing, and looked down into a large pit.

It was worse than Atlantis in a crisis, and she felt herself drawn to the activity below. People scurried about, everyone on a talking device, and if possible they were even more energetic than the people above them. She walked the perimeter, her fingers trailing lightly on the rail, caught up in the madness below. A small flight of stairs led down, and she followed as the noise from above was replaced by a new sort of chaos, wincing in the glare of the computer screens and the odd light that streaked across the room.

She looked up, and was nearly blinded by all of the flashing symbols streaming vertically overhead. Was it possible for such symbols to be read at such great speed? It was soon obvious that not only were the markings being read, they were being translated and quickly acted upon. She stopped a woman who looked about her age, and nodded at the display. "What is this?"

The woman frowned at her over her glasses. "Trade," she said simply, and continued to punch information into a small keypad at an alarming speed. Her eyes darted up to the screen, and back to her hand held device with the beat of someone who was born to work in this field.

Teyla suddenly felt ill, though she had no reason for it. "Trade? You are conducting trade negotiations here?"

"So to speak." The voice was curt.

Teyla shook her head. "I do not understand." Nor would she be able to. This was what she had to contend with in order to negotiate a trade agreement? "Where are the people?" The woman looked at her as though she had grown another head, and Teyla clarified. "Those you would trade with. Where are they?"

"There." She pointed to the display with her stylus and left without further comment. Teyla stared at the symbols as they continued to scroll above her.

Again she felt a hypnotizing pull, and found herself walking toward the screen. She was the only one staring, everyone else was either typing rapidly or yelling into their talking devices or shouldering each other aside to look at the various computer screens that lined the aisles in a haphazard fashion. She walked as though under a spell, studying the system, trying to see the people behind it. "This makes no sense."

"Look lady, you're in the way." She was pushed aside, and for once she allowed herself to be as she jolted to her senses. There wasn't a friendly face on the entire floor, and all the noise and motion was crushing her. She hurried up the stairs and to the door, waited impatiently for it to swoosh open, and darted down the hall as fast as her ill-equipped shoes would let her. It wasn't until she was out of the elevator and on the street, in the open air, that she could breathe.

It wasn't right. It wasn't right for this trade to be so impersonal, so calculated. She saw no means to an end. There was no guarantee that anyone was getting what they actually needed, no personal interaction, no way to get the feel for the negotiator and how he thinks. No way to form bonds that were needed when heavy rains came, or when enemies attacked. This was all numbers. For all she knew, there wasn't anyone on the other side, and this was all an elaborate ploy to keep people busy. It wasn't productive at all. It was morbid.

She knew the lunch cue was about to sound, and it did, right on time. She knew the people were instantly stopping what they were doing and marching to the huge eating centers that provided daily the same, artificial meal that sustained them. At least in the part of the city she was in, they ate at their place of business. Further down into the city, they would swarm the streets and go to their assigned centers. She remembered seeing Rodney's shock as he walked down the hall to his suite, explaining how he was nearly trampled to death by, as he put it, "the hungry hoards who can't be bothered to give a hand out to those that need it", and would say no more on the subject. He had excused himself to his room, declining any offer to further discuss the matter.

She had thought he was over-exaggerating. That was a part of his flair, she had learned, that Rodney McKay attacked everything with passion and boundless energy, and that included embellishing his tales. But something had happened. And after wandering the city streets and watching the people, she knew deep down that what Rodney said was truth.

Another truth was, she hadn't felt secure since first setting foot on the planet. It was unnatural. If she were to cut one of the planet's occupants, she had doubts as to whether they would bleed. Never before had she seen such a lack of compassion, a lack of emotion, and such dedication. It reminded her a bit of McKay, at least the dedication bit. At first he demonstrated a lack of compassion, a lack of emotion unless it concerned his work. In fact, she could easily see the old Rodney McKay working here. But that was until she grew to know him.

It was a matter of degrees.

Her breathing eased somewhat, and she turned toward the sun, heading back to the suites. She needed to think, to be able to come up with a matter of trade that would fit the lifestyle of these people. If they liked fast talkers, she would have to talk fast. If they liked no nonsense, she had to be curt. If she wanted to trade like them, she had to think like them.

An adjustment, indeed.

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"These people are crazy," Ronon complained. It wasn't even a complaint. It was a stated fact.

"You're just saying that because you have to wear a suit," Rodney muttered, and frowned upwards. "Would it have hurt to do something about your hair? Like shave it?" No way was he going to own up to Ronon that he looked decent, for a change. The man was just too damn big for any kind of histrionics, and there was no way he could make his statement sincere. He was grateful for the distraction, however. The building they had entered was impossibly small.

"Boys, settle down," John said, eyeing the door before them. "They won't let us play in their sandbox unless the two of you can behave."

"And exactly what are we planning on playing with, huh?" Rodney snapped. "I mean, what can possibly fit into this tin can that would make you want to . . .oh." The door opened to reveal a huge underground bunker, lined for as far as the eye could see with weapons.

Rodney blinked. "I retract the question."

"Nice." Ronon walked in, wide-eyed, fingers itching. John wasn't much better off.

Rodney stared over their shoulders, nearly having to tip-toe to do it, as he passed through the narrow doorway. "I don't believe it! There has to be enough weaponry here to . . ."

"Destroy a small galaxy?" John smirked.

Rodney grimaced. "Oh, har-har. I was thinking more like the whole Wraith species."

"Genocide is genocide, Rodney."

"Yeah, well, in this case, I can live with it."

"I have to agree," Ronon muttered. "Don't want to, but. . ." he shrugged and walked boldly into the armory.

"Hey, wait up!" John followed, eager as a child. Rodney just sighed and tagged along.

The armory was grey, just like everything else, and lit with hundreds and hundreds of spotlights rather than large fixtures. It looked to be a mile long, the end couldn't be seen from their vantage point. A large landing overlooked the interior, lined with weapons. On the landing was a solitary man who wore a dark grey jumpsuit rather than standard business attire. He spoke without looking up. "You represent The Block?"

"Uh . . .yes." John quickly flashed his pass and pocketed it. His companions didn't even bother.

The man continued to study his pad. "I suppose you'll be wanting the tour."

John took a quick glance around. " . . .If you would be so kind."

"Fine." The man set down the clipboard and picked up a small scanner, finally turning to see who had disturbed him. Three men stood before him, all dressed in suits, all looking a little too awed at the sight before them. Newcomers, his expression said, and he looked like he would have sighed in irritation if he had the guts.

He aimed the scanner at John. It emitted a thin, red line as it passed over John's body, then Rodney's. As it passed over Ronon, it beeped. John rolled his eyes as the man held out his hand. Ronon snarled and pulled a knife from his thick ponytail.

"You'll get it back," the man reassured, weighing the knife in his hand. "Not that I blame you for taking precautions, but I assure you, it isn't needed." He set down the scanner, and unzipped his jumper, pulling it down to reveal a black suit as crisp as the day it came from the cleaners. He carefully folded the jumper and straightened his thin, black tie. "My name is Scotts Jacobsen. I'll be your guide." He held out his hand expectantly.

"John Sheppard." John replied, and nudged Rodney.

"Uh, Rodney, Rodney McKay. Doctor." He tagged his title with the hope that it would mean something here. It didn't.

"Specialist Ronon Dex," Ronon practically snarled. "I want my knife back."

"After the tour." Scotts Jacobsen snapped, and turned to the armory. He walked to the rail and used his pen as a pointer, waving it in the general direction of the visible weapons. "What you see here is referred to as a type 42 B stealth bomb. That means it is virtually undetectable by any type of radar system currently in use in the five nearby planetary systems. We have four hundred and fifty-two in our count, but only a fifth are currently active. The rest are decommissioned." He pointed to a chart which lay on a small podium that currently served as a desk. "After the Sobartran agreement of 35675, we were limited to six hundred. Just under two hundred were shipped out to be destroyed, and the rest were disabled. The active fifth are be reactivated within a short time frame, and they are the ones here," he pointed to red flags on the chart. "The rest merely are a show of strength, nothing more."

"How do you re-commission these weapons?" Rodney asked.

Jacobsen frowned. "Simply introduce a B9 compound into the mix. Without it the bomb will not detonate."

"And this B9 compound is kept where?" John asked.

Jacobsen stared at John, suddenly wary. He thumbed his stylus. "This is a trick question, isn't it?"

John smiled. "Humor me. I have to check up on protocol, no matter how small."

"There isn't any B9 compound." Again, Jacobsen fidgeted with the stylus. "No one has been able to recreate the exact formula needed, it's been too long."

"So . . ." Ronon looked around, "these weapons are all useless."

"Well, of course they are! What – wait, this _is_ a test, isn't it? Or you know something I don't." Jaobsen suddenly looked frightened.

John gave a discreet signal to Ronon, who used the emotion to his advantage, and took a step forward, towering over Jacobsen. "Where are your working weapons?"

Scotts Jacobsen wasn't a small man. He wasn't easily intimidated. But what wasn't known to the Atlantis team, was the fact that Scotts Jacobsen was already having a bad day. The Block had threatened him once, earlier that morning, of falsified record keeping. He was on edge. Any other day, he'd would have had no problems sending these men back to the street. Today, however . . . "Very well. Follow me."

He led them to a caged elevator and pushed a large button, one of two that stood out from a flat panel. One would presume that pushing one button would make the elevator go up, and the other would make the elevator go down. Not so. Jacobsen pushed one button to get the elevator moving, and the other to make their descent even faster.

John already felt ill at ease with his guide's manner. Now he couldn't help but to wonder if his guide was trying to kill him. He saw Rodney brace himself against the backside of the cage. John threaded his fingers through the grate, looking up nervously as the floor disappeared above them. Even Ronon looked a bit ill at ease.

The elevator eventually slowed, then stopped with a hard thump on the ground floor, or basement, or sub basement, whatever. John was all too glad to get out when Jacobsen raised the gate.

The corridor before them was dimly lit, and reminded John of the Genii underground bunker. Instinctively he move closer to Rodney, waiting for the grey soldiers to pop out and yell "surprise!" before blowing their heads off. The Genii were last on his board of trustees, and that was partly due to the number of attempts made to take Rodney from them. Hence his proximity to the man, which Rodney didn't notice, and was probably just as well. Not like he wanted to admit that he was rather protective of the man.

Jacobsen turned a large crank, and a heavy door swung open to reveal a long, large arena, filled to the gills with small weapons about the size of a drone. These weren't odd, squid looking weapons however, these were rock solid, shake-you-to-the-core and destroy-your-corner-of-reality weapons. "And these are all operational?" John asked.

"They are."

"Power?"

"One-one thousand jula-bules."

"Each?"

"What's a ju-ju-be?" Rodney asked in a low voice.

Jacobsen turned. "You don't know the power equivalent of a jula-bule?"

"Look, just tell me if it would it take out a city." Rodney asked firmly, as though he were indeed testing this young man's knowledge.

"Ten would take out a city." Jacobsen looked over the stash possessively. "This lot would take out this corner of the planet."

John nodded, trying to keep a professional demeanor despite an increasingly itchy trigger finger. "Sounds good."

Ronon leaned in to him. "Could do some serious damage to any hive ships that come our way."

"Yeah," Rodney pitched in, sotto voce, "but how many hive ships do the Wraith have?"

Jacobsen just looked from one man to the other, confused.

John cleared his throat. "I think that will do for now. Of course we'll need all documentation available on these weapons, as well as any testing footage you may have." He pulled out a paper. "We're supposed to meet with a High, uh, High Delv by the name of Larrs." He snapped his hand down in a military manner. "Where do we go?"

John was subliminally pulling rank on him, and Jacobsen wasn't even military per se, he just supervised the bunker, and said so. And got real nervous, because it hadn't occurred to him that this man might actually be military, which made him wonder just who else was watching his every move.

He quickly pointed to another elevator, this one with two buttons, which apparently meant "up" and "up very fast".

"Don't these people have regular lifts?" Rodney moaned as he climbed on board under the nervous eye of Scotts Jacobsen.

They came out on the other end of what John now, rather impishly, considered the wet-dream room. It was good while it lasted, but ultimately it was nothing more than a figment of his imagination. He practically lusted after the weapons as they walked by, out the door, and eventually into an insanely bright day. The sun reflected off the metal buildings in a menacing fashion as Jacobsen gave John directions to the firing range. "He's there today, testing out some new stock," was all Jacobsen would say before quickly disappearing back into the underground.

John glared back at the bright buildings and wondered how these people lived with hangovers.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Two days into the visit, Rodney was going nuts.

He had hovered around the physics labs, offered his advice whether it was welcomed or not, and was subsequently grounded for his efforts. Apparently these over-developed brains had no use for any external data, no matter how correct his assumptions were. They were just pissed that they couldn't figure things out for themselves, they had to have an off-worlder tell them what was what. At least that was how he saw it. What was closer to the truth was, yes, they were annoyed, but more importantly, this information about his behavior and ability was being sent back to The Block in electronic triplicate, and being deemed very useful indeed.

But to Rodney, he was just there for . . .he couldn't even come up with a reason for his presence. Weapons were dull. Not too dull, rather watching Sheppard and Ronon eyeing them like kids in a candy store was dull. Sure, he could have stayed. Why would he want to?

His meeting with the Legit earlier that afternoon had turned from a request for a talk to something of an interview. The man seemed more concerned with his personal behavior and work ethics than his interest in what was offered. Rodney found himself defending his views with no good reason while forced into useless debates. He didn't understand what was going on, and it made even less sense to him when the legit pronounced the research labs closed to him for the time being. As a result, there was no way to further examine the progress these people had made in the realm of physics, though he had a sneaky suspicion with the way those elevators ran that they knew a pretty trick about gravity and had no intention of sharing it. He wondered for the thousandth time why he wasn't allowed access to the labs, when everyone else was able to go and check out what made these strange people tick. Even Teyla had found a niche, such as it was, spending the afternoon drowning herself in paperwork and numbers that made no sense to him, and math was one of his premier subjects. Maybe it was that the symbols they used were strange, maybe it was that he had no interest in stock trading. Maybe it was the feral bite-your-head-off look Teyla had been giving him since he entered her room. Either way, he left the work offered to him on the table and groused alone.

Maybe he should go back to Atlantis. Even the most simple of projects needed tending, much like children, properly nurtured and prompted in order to grow. Radek was a pretty dismal parent, judging by what had happened to him on the child-planet Rodney had sent him to. Course Radek had missed all the fun then, with the city on a self destruct and a worm-infested Caldwell. No, he played around instead, had his face painted and fully forgot that he was on a mission.

Better Radek than himself.

He contemplated contacting Atlantis, and decided against it. Sheppard was allowed the occasional, supervised call through the gate, and he doubted he could activate it without causing some alarm. Besides, if he was patient enough, maybe he could find a lab somewhere and sneak in. It would almost be worth the risk just to see the reaction, and maybe he could get booted from this meaningless mission and back doing something that. . .meant something.

Patient? Who the hell was he kidding?

So, for the first time in memory, Rodney found himself utterly useless. There was nothing he could get his hands on, nothing to fix, or study, and he finally decided to voice his complaint. "I. Am so. BORED." He threw his hands up into the air in defeat. "There is nothing to do here. NOTHING."

Teyla looked up from her papers, evil eye in full view. He had been pacing in her suite for a quarter of an hour. "You could always. . ."

He bent over her in irritation. "What? Walk around? Take in the sights? Play the dumb tourist? I don't have time for that."

"Apparently you have."

"Oh, that's so smug. Thanks for that." He sighed miserably. "This world is such a waste of intellectual capacity." Rodney turned in a circle, then noticed Teyla's growing frown. "Oh come on. It's not like you understand what you're reading there."

"I am trying to come to terms with how these people conduct their trading affairs." He gave him a hot glance. "It is not easy." Her tone insinuated that the text wasn't the difficulty.

"These people don't know the meaning of a proper handshake." Rodney paced, and sighed more heavily, finally catching the meaning behind her evil eye. "Okay, okay, fine! I'm going for a walk." He pointed a finger at her. "Should any major catastrophe occur, any life-threatening event, or an attack, or systems meltdown . . ."

"I will be sure to find you ." She had returned to her papers, a hint of a scowl on her face.

He decided he liked a lovely Teyla much more so than a vicious Teyla. Vicious Teylas had a tendency to make quick use of whatever was nearby to throttle him with. "Right. You do that, cause, you know, things happen." He raised his chin, turned importantly on his heel, and started off.

Teyla looked up in time to see a hand reach back to snatch his jacket, and _then_ he was gone.

The streets below were fairly empty. One person jostled Rodney's shoulder as he stood before the tower that housed their lodgings, but no apology was offered. Instead, the man merely glanced back in irritation and kept on.

"Nice," Rodney muttered, and randomly picked a direction.

Everything he had seen had been toward the north end of the town. In the coming dusk, he found himself drawn more toward the southern side. There the road dipped downward, vanishing into a dim view of houses and streets that were forever overshadowed by the huge towers of the main city. He tried not to cling to the image of descending into hell, though the setting sun cast an eerie red glow on the metalwork, turning the sky pink. Everything seemed darker, older, blacker, like an aged pot. If anything the lines here were more stark and bold, from the squared-off street lights to the jutting handrails that led up to small apartments, or down to basements, yet everything looked worn, depressed.

A few people lingered. They were in suits, presumably coming off of their shift. Even then they moved with brisk efficiency in work-crumpled clothes. They probably plotted the next day's activities in their sleep, and woke to begin them without being conscious of it. It was a sobering thing, watching them go about their business much like mindless robots. And though this district looked increasingly shabby, it was only in comparison to the shiny, posh buildings of the main city. He wished the slums back home looked half as good.

It was possible the people here were employed for menial tasks, and didn't enjoy the wealth offered to those that lived uptown. Not to mean they were bad off, just not as . . .clean.

Rodney's hands were deep in his pockets. He watched everything with a philosophical eye, rather than a scientific one. Science got a person just so far, then one had to resort to conjecture. And while he was anything but a humanitarian, he found these people fascinating. What could he accomplish if allowed to work as they did? Sleep was such a distraction, the need for protocol and civil behavior was restrictive. What if the need for it could be eliminated? Of course these people came home for a reason, right? Surely they slept. He was tempted to look through a window, and thought better of it.

And that was when he saw him.

The man shot him a glance and curled over his dark coat, bending his head downward as he walked away, contrasting against every straight-lined way of thought in his steps alone. Rodney's hands left the warmth of his pockets, and he watched, then for no reason whatsoever, followed.

The man's steps were quick, and unlike the self-assured gait of most of the population. He remained hunched as the streets cleared themselves of the last of their residents. He was a good two blocks ahead, and yet Rodney could see him as though he were standing right before him.

However, he couldn't _catch _him.

His steps quickened, then slowed as he was forced to stop and catch his breath. There was no way the man could have disappeared. He'd had his eye on him the whole time, and yet there was no man before him, but wait . . .there. Movement. Rodney cursed his lack of stamina and plowed forward toward a small stairwell leading underneath a smoke-grey building.

Of course there was nothing to be seen, and something about the area put Rodney on his guard. He hesitated, then called, "Hello?" He was certain someone had run down there. Positive of it.

Cautiously, because it was the only sane way to approach new situations, he crept down the stairs. The area darkened around him as he descended, the pink-reflected sky disappearing as he crouched underneath a landing. He glanced around, pausing, then tapped on the closed door. After a moment, he pushed it open with a creak, cursing his new-found bravado. He should go back to his room.

The air was musty. Webs glistened in the light that filtered though from outside. Rodney glanced back behind him to the safety of the street, then wondered just how safe it really was. His interrogation by the legit had freaked him out considerably, so of course he was down here in a dusty hole seeking solace. Sure, that made sense. Hell, everyone needed a retreat, even that man, provided that what he saw was actually a person and not some alien creature that inhabited the sewer system. Suddenly aware that what he was doing was exactly what one did in a horror film shortly before having their brains splattered, he stepped back. But that was when he heard the whistling.

It was an unexpectedly cheerful sound on this strange world. It echoed through the room, very faint and jovial. Rodney's brows pulled tight, and he gave one more glance behind him, then decided to bravely succumb to his curiosity.

He walked slowly, reaching out as the space around him grew darker, batting away a web in irritation and wondering how this person managed to get so deep within the building without disturbing anything. Surely the cobwebs would have been cleaned out, or at least run into, thus clearing a path. Probing hands found a door, and a door knob, and he turned it.

The next room was also dark, but for a faintly illuminated stairwell. The whistling was louder, tunneling through the building as he stepped onto the top step gingerly, then down another, bracing himself against the filthy wall. The whistling faded as he reached the bottom, staring at the faint light that slanted towards him from beneath the door. Rodney swallowed hard, and turned the knob.

The candlelight exploded around him with all the force of a supernova.

The room was filled with paintings. Deep reds, vivid blues, and prismatic yellows were embossed with swirls, curves, and circles. Each stroke was unplanned and thrown upon the canvas. It was angry, it was relieved, it was real. The dark walls were lined with offset colors, random splotches dotted the floor. The paintings jerked back and forth in the wavering flame of the candle, coming to life, in fact looking more alive and monstrous than anything Rodney had yet to see on the streets. Such was his craving that he stepped forward, desperate to see something other than starkness. He hadn't realized. . . .

The voice was startled, but polite, and Rodney spun in terror. "You like them?"

Rodney's defenses kicked in, raising his chin with sudden force. A step backward betrayed him. "Who wants to know?"

The man approached, wiping a thick brush onto a white cloth, reddened with paint. He was an older man, his hair losing color, his cheeks sunken but flushed with health. "Joseiah Banneth." He narrowed his dark eyes nervously. "You're not from The Block, are you?"

"The Block?"

The man gave a relieved nod. "I'll take that as a no." He waved his brush at Rodney and turned to throw his small towel over a busted wooden chair. "Good thing. Don't need them snooping around, getting into my business." The words carried more bravado than the tone, and Rodney could see that the man was shaken.

He blinked in confusion. This strange man, these paintings, on this world it was sensory overload. He wasn't sure what to say.

Joseiah understood. He pulled another chair from the corner, and waved Rodney to it. "Don't get visitors here much. Too dangerous. But I saw you in the street, and I reckon you saw me too."

"Yes, I followed you down here," Rodney said frankly as he sat, stiffly.

"Hm. And are you satisfied with what you've found?"

"Yes!" Rodney smiled crookedly, then stifled his enthusiasm as he nervously ran his hands over his knees.

"Well, don't be." Joseiah jabbed his brush into a strong-smelling solution.

"Why?"

Joseiah gave a wry smile and tapped the side of his head with the end of his brush.

Rodney's mouth quirked. This wasn't the work of a madman. The paintings were so bold, said so much. "Why aren't these on display?" There were too many lining the walls. He was either very shy about his work, or extraordinarily productive.

The painter's back was turned. "You've seen the city? Where would they go?"

Rodney scooted forward on his chair, one side of his mouth still raised. "That's what I mean, this place could use some . . ."

"It isn't allowed."

"Why?"

"Too much to explain."

Rodney hesitated, and wondered how such vibrancy could be concealed. "Are you afraid of getting caught?"

"Always."

Rodney shook his head slightly, then came to a decision and rose. He approached cautiously, and stood at the smaller man's shoulder. "Do you mind?" He was looking at the blank canvas, unable to explain the pull it had on him, or the way he was eyeing the reds and blues like cakes on a platter.

Joseiah merely smiled and handed him a brush. "Be my guest."

And it started.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Ronon was in love.

John was spooked. He had never seen a person show emotion so openly, not unless they were drunk, and he was fairly certain Ronon was sober, unless he also managed to hide a flask in that insane ponytail of his.

His lips pulled back into a grin as he caressed the gun. "I haven't seen one of these in a long time," he rumbled in delight. "Used to have them when going on patrol."

"Looks heavy," John said dubiously, but he was a bit lost in admiration as well. The gun looked like a large pistol, larger than a P-90. It was the oddest thing he had even seen, with a barrel that extended both from the chamber and behind it.

Ronon merely smiled and aimed at the target, which was comprised of dull, multi-colored triangles. He fired.

The single shot blew the target apart.

Ronon smiled.

John swallowed and worked his jaw, trying to recover from the outrageous noise the weapon made. He had a feeling it wasn't the shot that was lethal. The reverb was likely to make a body explode like a melon. "Nice," he yelled, because he couldn't hear himself.

"What?"

John guess at what was said. "I think we need several!"

"No, you can't try yet." Ronon cocked the pistol and fired again.

This time John's ears were ringing, and the annoying pitch was all he could hear. He cupped his hands over the stinging sensation that pierced his eardrums. "Protection!"

"What?"

John winced and raised his eyebrows, emphasizing his cupped hands over his ears. He glanced behind him, but the man shook his head. "How do you get used to these things?" he yelled at him.

"What?"

John decided to keep his mouth shut. He pressed his palms against his ears as Ronon took a third shot. Of course since the target had been obliterated during the first one, John was suspecting he was firing because he _liked_ the reverb.

Ronon handed the weapon to him. "No kick."

"What?"

Ronon rolled his eyes and thrust the gun into John's hands.

The colonel took aim, at nothing, and fired.

It was the oddest sensation he had ever felt. There was no kick, but the weapon exuded some sort of vibration that jolted his arm, through his shoulder, straight to his chest. His heart pounded and his adrenaline spiked. Another shot and his arm was numb, but the vibration reached straight down to his groin. His eyes widened, and he knew why Ronon was smiling so much. "Bet no one surrenders these babies!"

The man behind him walked forward with a notepad. On it was written, "Makes men happy to defend their territory."

John chuckled and fired another shot before Ronon took the gun away.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"And this one?" Rodney gestured to a large painting leaning against the wall.

"Geometrics. All about outward appearances, perceptions. Look here," he tilted the painting, and it changed.

Rodney stared. "How's that possible?"

Joseiah smiled. "Simple concept. 'What lies beneath'."

Rodney chuckled. "You're a very unusual man."

He returned to his own canvas. "Thank you."

"Those paintings up there," he gestured with the tip of his brush, "they're all blacks and greys and nothing but lines. You paint them?"

"No."

"It's depressing as hell." Rodney frowned at his canvas. "I still don't understand why you won't sell these up top. Those people could use a little color in their lives, such as they are." He shook his head disdainfully. "You could probably save the entire civilization."

Joseiah's mouth quirked at that. "You don't like our world?"

Rodney considered his answer. "You know, it's strange. Being the kind of person I am, you would think I'd ship out to live here. Nothing but work, no distractions, it still sounds appealing. But after giving it some thought, this . . .it's unnatural. And you haven't seen unnatural until you've worked in Siberia, so trust me, I know."

Joseiah didn't question him. Instead he looked at Rodney's painting. "You know what that says to me?" he asked softly, and turned it to the candlelight. Soft blues and greens melded to form the Atlantean sea.

"What?" Rodney asked.

Joseiah smiled at the painting. "It says, obviously, that you're not the person you think you are."

Rodney looked at his work, and almost had to agree.

Joseiah replaced the canvas. "You've the artist's touch in you. Don't let the others know."

"As far as they know I'm a bundle of facts and towering intellect. Wouldn't dare show them my softer side." He grinned and dabbed at the canvas again. "You know, this is really soothing. Wonder why I never thought of it before. I can see doing this after a day in the lab, especially if I'm stuck with Radek. What I wouldn't give for some help that speaks proper English."

"You say you are a man of science."

"Yes."

"You should put your perceptions there," he gestured to the canvas. "You'll see something new every time you do it."

"Yes, well . . ." Rodney backed away, suddenly feeling uncomfortable, like he had given away too much, and cleaned his brush. "I should be going, if I stay gone they'll panic and start looking for me. Not that I'm not appreciative of their concern, but it gets a bit tedious, like they can't do anything without me around to guide them." He gave a little shrug with a put-upon sigh and tapped the brush against the can that held an ammonia-based cleanser. The whole room smelled of paints and tools cleansing, and he was becoming lightheaded.

"Would you like to take your painting?"

Rodney shook his head quickly. "No, no you keep it." After Joseiah's hints, there was no way he was going to risk taking out onto the street. And that discomfort was minor compared to what his team would think if he suddenly went all Michelangelo on them. "I mean, it's not like you show off your stuff."

"You are an outworlder. A slap on the wrist is the worst you'll get."

"And what about you?" Rodney leveled a concerned gaze at the man that had suddenly opened up a new world before him.

Joseiah's mouth quirked slightly. "_Eternal_ gratitude."

Rodney gave a small, uncertain laugh in disbelief. "It can't be that bad." His smile faded. "Can it?"

Joseiah merely looked at him. "It's been a pleasure, Rodney McKay."

"Yeah. Uh, likewise." His expression had fallen, and he turned, then turned back. "Is it okay if, I mean . . .can I come and paint, just while I'm here?" His jaw was clenched, as though the request cost him dearly.

"Can you keep a secret?"

His mouth worked, and he managed to force out, "yes."

Joseiah chuckled and smiled knowingly. "Then you may return. Have a good evening."

"Thank you. You . . . uh, you too. Bye." He waved and backed out of the room.

Joseiah resumed his work.


	3. Chapter 3

_True straightness seems crooked._

_True wisdom seems foolish._

_True art seems artless._

_-Tao Te Ching 45_

Their report back to Dr. Weir was nothing short of extraordinary. John sat at her desk, explaining in detail what he had discovered during his days at the weapons range. "Their handguns are so precise, it almost aims itself. And the militia are quite simply the most organized force I've ever seen."

Admittedly, Elizabeth wouldn't be excited over the logistics of soldiering, but she knew when John was this excited, it was a good thing. "Are they willing to help us?"

"More than that." John leaned back smugly. "They're willing to show us some of their training techniques."

Elizabeth frowned. "Isn't this a bit unusual? What if we were to come to war with them ourselves, or sell the information to their enemy? They really trust us this much?"

"Maybe." He shifted and leaned forward on his elbows, his hands expressive. "These people are nothing like anything I've seen. They're not the least bit intimidated by us, I don't know that they are intimidated by much of anything. We aren't a threat to them, we're like a little brother or something."

"And what about our mention of the Wraith?"

John shrugged. "Totally unconcerned. If they seriously don't care, then they must have a good reason for it. Wouldn't mind knowing that reason."

"They're superhuman," Rodney butted in as he entered. He sat and nodded a thanks at John as his coffee mug was passed to him. "They work like slaves. I don't even think they sleep." He sipped at his hot drink.

"Good?" John asked him.

"Hm? Oh. Yes, thank you." Rodney sat back and looked expectantly at Elizabeth.

She took the interruption in stride. "You've been on the planet for two days." She turned to Teyla. "How do they strike you as a people?"

The Athosian sat quietly for a moment. "I find their ways . . .troubling," she admitted. Her eyes were troubled, and she fidgeted with the corner of a paper that sat before her. Teyla wasn't one to fidget.

"That's just because you're not as used to high tech," John said.

"No," she insisted, "that isn't it. There is something more, something they are not telling us."

"Isn't that true of everyone we've met?" John asked.

"Besides, pot, kettle. We haven't exactly been forthcoming ourselves," Rodney said pointedly. "They know little of our struggle with the Wraith, they've never even mentioned the Wraith, unless we bring it up first, and their lack of interest quite frankly freaks me out." He pointed at the large window. "They have no idea we live_ in_ Atlantis. And Ancient ties? Nada, and these are people who actually carry the ancient gene." He turned to Teyla. "So you tell me what they could possibly be hiding that sets them apart from us morally."

Teyla fell silent and looked at Elizabeth.

Elizabeth knew enough of Teyla to know that any misgivings she had didn't warrant such dismissal as Rodney placed on it. She gave Teyla a nod, saying silently that her feelings were noted and not discounted.. "Ronon? What are your thoughts?"

"I don't like them. But we can use their weapons." His deep voice rumbled through the room.

"Do you think there is a possibility of trade?"

"At the moment, I don't see what we can possibly trade, short of telling them just who we are, and I doubt they'd care," Rodney said. "Everything they have is simply better than what we have." He sounded like a petulant child.

"It may just come to that." Elizabeth gave a firm nod. "You have permission to return and resume negotiations. Check around a bit more. Surely there is something we can provide for them. What about their medical needs? Have we been able to examine their medical facilities?"

"These people are healthy as horses," John said enviously. "Rodney wasn't kidding when he said they were super human."

"Just the same. There has to be a weakness somewhere."

"I'm sure there is," John said, standing. "Just not sure we're the ones who can fix it."

Weir tried visibly not to sigh. Instead she made a firm decision. "Take Carson back with you. See if they will agree to giving him a tour of their medical facilities. If we can't improve on the weapon or their trading affairs, maybe we can offer them something medically. And if they are as healthy and productive as you say they are, I'd like to know why." The sigh escaped. "I agree that they have what we need, but if we have nothing to offer these people, then there are no negotiations."

"Humbling, isn't it, to think that there is a culture out there that actually _doesn't _need our help?" Rodney asked rather smugly.

She ignored him and sat back. "They've never mentioned the Wraith themselves?"

"Nope. There's no evidence that the Wraith have ever been on their world."

Weir stood. "Good. Keep me informed."

"Elizabeth, wait." Rodney raised his index finger. "Is it absolutely necessary that I return?"

Weir sent him a puzzled look. "You're team is down there, don't you want to be with them?"

"Oh, well, not that I don't enjoy our nightly soulful journeys into each other's conscience, but uh . . .no?" He frowned, and reluctantly admitted, "There isn't anything for me to do. They won't let me into their labs."

"Why?"

"I don't know. But at this point I'd be of more use here than down there."

"Oh, I don't know," John said. "What about those talks with the legit?"

"Please, I just as soon not go through that again." Rodney gave a pained face. "That man seriously gives me the hebejebes."

"Is that a scientific term?" John laughed.

"Elizabeth, please don't make me go back down there."

She blinked and gave a one shouldered shrug, amused at Rodney's discomfiture. "If you are talking to the legit, I see that as a good thing. Maybe he'll get to like you and give us some weapons as a bonus gift in exchange for your company."

"Oh, har-har."

"You should return to the planet, just for a little while longer."

"At least give me two hours to check on things here."

She considered. "All right. Two hours, then I kick you back out. Besides," she grinned, "you may be able to help Carson out a bit."

Rodney groused. "Fine."

"I'll notify Dr. Beckett, then."

"Oh! Let me tell him. If someone else is going to be as miserable as me then I should be the bearer of the good news." Elizabeth merely raised an eyebrow in amusement and nodded, and Rodney hauled ass out of the door.

"Like a kid in a candy store. He loves to see Carson sweat when he realizes he's going off-world. Sadistic bastard." John gave Elizabeth a knowing smile as he followed the physicist out of her office.

Teyla stood slowly, and hesitated. She placed her fingertips on Elizabeth's desk, unconsciously caressing the smooth surface. When she looked up, Elizabeth was eyeing her curiously, but not speaking.

She collected her thoughts, and sat once more. "How are your own meetings going?" she asked.

"Frustrating," Elizabeth admitted, sitting on the corner of her desk. "But then we are talking about the involvement of the United States government."

"Is everything all right?"

"They want more control, we don't want to give it to them, it's the same argument. This Wraith threat seems to have finally caught their attention, too bad we nearly had to lose the city in order to get it. Between this and the Ori . . ." she smile and shook her head. "Tell me what's troubling you. You're not usually this reticent."

Teyla gave a small smile. While she didn't know anything about the governments of Earth, she did recognize a difficult situation. No more information was volunteered, and Teyla turned the subject to her concerns. "This culture is unlike anything I have ever seen." Her eyes wandered across the contours of the small office, and to the window overlooking the sea. "I thought coming here was the most amazing thing I would ever experience, but this people are far more, I mean they . . .they make me nervous."

"Is it something they've done?"

"It is not what they have done, more who they are. It seems so different." She nodded at her surroundings. "When I am here, I am at peace. I do not feel as much an outsider, I feel as though we do have things in common despite our differences. I have been on other worlds where the inhabitants are not as civil as I would like. This world," she fought for the right words, "there is something unsettling about them. I do not understand them."

"Well," Elizabeth said softly, "we aren't there to understand them. We're there to negotiate a trade." She sought Teyla's gaze. "Are you saying you feel this can't be done?"

Teyla wasn't certain if Elizabeth was questioning the situation, or her own ability. "As you have said, we have nothing to offer them. They have everything, there is nothing lacking." Her breath caught in frustration. "Elizabeth, I do not know what I am doing there! I do not understand their ways, and I have nothing with which to negotiate. This is an impossible situation. I cannot go to these people and expect them to just give us these weapons, yet that is what I am going to have to do unless we find something worthy of their trust. As it stands, we are years behind them. They have their own defenses. They lack in nothing."

"You really feel that we have nothing to offer them?"

"Unless Dr. Beckett can come up with an idea, no. There is nothing we have that they do not already possess in quantity, and in better quality."

"I see." Elizabeth stood. She walked over to the large window overlooking the sea and watched the waves for a time. Teyla was determined not to interrupt her thoughts. Eventually she walked to her chair and sat back. "I suppose I can postpone the next meeting and visit this planet myself . . ."

Was Elizabeth challenging her? Teyla's eyes narrowed. "I do not think that will be necessary."

And as her eyes narrowed, Elizabeth's flew open. "Teyla, no, I didn't mean . . ."

But the Athosian stood. "I will see to these peculiar way of trade, and continue to learn their system." She hesitated in thought. "Perhaps if I prove useful to them, they will consider a trade of labor, if nothing else." She was doubtful, the society seemed very materialistic, but it was all she had.

Elizabeth considered, and nodded. "If you can make them money, they might see it as payment."

"That is my thought."

"And I think it is a good one," she winced slightly, "though I'm not sure the difference would be fair."

"I will do what it takes."

Again, Elizabeth nodded. "Then good luck. And keep me informed."

"Thank you." Teyla gave a small smile, satisfied.

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Rodney practically skipped to the infirmary to tell his friend the good news. Maybe not skip, he would never skip, but he did perform a sort of interesting hop-and-run technique. And the news was good only because he loved to watch the doctor panic at the thought of traveling through the wormhole. For the doctor, the news was anything but good. That took the sting out of his own useless return.

"Pack up," Rodney called out as he walked in. Nurses looked at him in astonishment. "No, not you," he chastised, "Carson. He's going off-world, Carson!" Rodney turned. "Where'd he go?"

"I'm right here Rodney, and I do believe half the city can hear you." Dr. Carson Beckett rounded the corner, snapping off a pair of rubber gloves. "Whaddya mean going off-world?"

Rodney clapped his friend on the shoulder. "Me and you. Mano a mano."

"What for?"

"Research. You're searching to see if there is any sort of voodoo crap we can use to bid with."

Carson just gave him a wide-eyed stare, the kind that drove Rodney insane because he looked like a five-year old who had his candy stolen. "Oh I am, am I? So now we get to use my medicine as a prompt for possible warfare?"

Rodney gave a long-suffering sigh. "Defense, Carson, the warfare is inevitable. We want weapons to protect ourselves. Therefore your contribution would be to the good of survival, eh?"

"I can't . . ." But he knew it was pointless to argue. "I have a lot of work here that is about to be neglected."

"Same song, different dance."

"Can't Dr. Biro go?"

"What? No, Biro can't go! Now stop your whining and get ready." Rodney was walking out, backwards. He pointed at Carson. "You leave with Sheppard in fifteen. Got it?"

"I thought you said me and you! Where are you going to be?"

"Two hours behind you, unfortunately. Now snap to it!" Rodney gave a finger pop and hurried out.

"Aye," Carson sighed. "And I was having a lovely day."

A half hour later, John walked alongside Carson, who was gazing up at the buildings like a tourist who had never been to New York. He kept having to prod the man along to keep him from staring at the nearly barren streets in confusion. Having explained the city's odd schedule to the doctor didn't prevent the pure strangeness of seeing it in person. Their figures were distorted in the reflections of the shiny buildings as they walked past. Everything was quiet as a country field, except for a faint hum which vibrated though the city like a steady pulse. There was no doubt that the place was alive, and productive.

"You get used to it," John lied as they stopped in front of the large building that served as their temporary residence.

"Not sure I want to." Carson stepped into what looked like an odd cross between a hotel and office building. It had the smell of new leather and cleaning polish.

John led him across the dark carpeted floor to the elevator. "Better hold on to your lunch," he warned.

Carson gave a disapproving look at John's casual stance as the doors hissed shut behind them. "You seem to have adjusted nicely to things here. Mother of god!" He fell back against the wall as the elevator shot upwards toward their suites, and swallowed hard. When the doors finally opened, he stepped out gingerly like a kid coming off of a carnival ride.

John patted his back and took the bag the doctor had been carrying. "I need flashy buttons and a dorky hat," he muttered. "Johnny the Bellhop, at your service! Guaranteed weight loss every time you ride, either by losing your lunch or leaving behind vital organs." The humor distracted Carson from the queasiness he felt, and he gave an appreciative, if small, grin.

John produced a card key and pressed it into Carson's palm. "I have to get back to the firing range. Ronon's been a little too happy with the armory. Get settled, and I'll be back for you shortly."

"I don't need a babysitter, I've been in hotels before."

"Fine. Just don't let the view get to you." John patted his back again and headed back down the hall. He heard the swipe of the card opening the door, and a heavy swearing brogue, and laughed as the elevator enclosed him.

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Dr. Carson Beckett, MD, PhD, loved people, but he didn't like to travel much. He never saw the use in going abroad to do work when so much was needed at home. It was a mere fluke that he ended up at Antarctica, and even more so that the medical geneticist happened to carry the specific gene needed to operate the delicate ancient mechanisms of Atlantis. Not only had he lost his way from Aberdeen, he'd bloody well lost his way from Earth. And now he wasn't even on Atlantis, he'd lost his way from there as well, aye, and was now on some godforsaken piece of land that apparently ran like a Swiss watch.

Even his hotel room, his suite, was pure precision. His suits, of which he chose a light grey, were all cleaned and pressed and didn't seem capable of creasing. The drinks on the wet bar were measured carefully, each glass decanter holding equal amounts. Carson poured himself a drink and set the decanter back on the table, noticing how the lower level looked out of place. He hid it behind another one. Each decanter was smooth, but not curvy. They were all squared off. Everything in the room was squared off, angled, sharp. Even the bed was hard, the pillows more blocks of material than fluff.

Carson crossed over to the large windows and cautiously looked down. He wondered how Rodney was coping with the view, and the inquiry brought a smile to his lips. There were no curtains, but then they weren't needed, being that there was nothing to compare with the height of the tower. Privacy this high up wasn't an issue. It didn't seem possible that the building was as tall as it was, from the street it looked as high as the others. Time dimensions crossed his mind, and he could picture Rodney sitting on the hard bed with his laptop and a pad, trying to conjure a logical way for the building to be taller on the inside than on the outside, a sort of Empire State Building crossed with a TARDIS.

He walked back and noticed a small box in the corner. Some sort of television receiver. Carson crouched down and turned it on, then sat fully on the flat carpet. Before him, in black and white, people were sitting at their desks, either busily talking on the odd remote telephones or gesturing to each other in a frantic, yet controlled manner. It was like viewing the stock exchange on a good day, and Carson found himself wondering where these people were, and just what they did. A pamphlet sat on top of the box, and he picked it up. The writing on the cover was unusual, but oddly enough, the writing inside he could read.

"The Block," it said boldly, "a revolutionary experiment in cultural sophistication."

He frowned and sipped at his drink. There was a chair beside the window and he sat, and continued to read.

"The significance of the units known as Barus Five and Six are of an important financial nature. Through these units all matters of trade are negotiated, as well as goods exchanged. The main interest of these units are to maintain a high level of proficiency by any means necessary, and to counter any attempts that might mar the efficiency of the units. Success of the planetary industry relies on these special units and their ability to secure trade agreements and proceed with the continued welfare of the people of the Barus population.

"With the enhanced features of the system operators, this process has shown to not only be useful but desirable in many business ventures. The productivity has increased substantially, and when compared with that of lesser skilled societies, our enhancements are proven not only to be worth while, but desperately necessary.

"Therefore continued support and funding of this industry is mandatory, and I appeal to each of you to take a look at what is available, and support our worthy and essential cause."

It was signed, "Legit P Barail, DsC.". The pamphlet proceed to unfold into a map of the city below, each building numbered, and underneath a description of what was held within each. Carson's eyes passed over each description until it rested on one in particular. "Banneth Institute for Genetic Enhancement".

Carson gaped and started as Ronon peeked his unusually kempt head into the room. "Sheppard sent me after you. You ready to go?"

"Go where?" Carson folded the paper and stuck it in his inner breast pocket.

"We're meeting him on the range, then he's taking you to this medical place."

"Do you mean the genetics institute?"

Ronon shrugged, not so much in a nonchalant manner, but more because he hadn't a clue what Carson was talking about.

Carson stood and downed the rest of his drink. For the first time he took in Ronon's appearance, fully suited. "You look quite dapper, lad!"

"Thanks. I feel like an idiot."

"I suppose the change is a bit abrupt." He started out, then turned. "Out of curiosity, where are you hiding those weapons you said you'd bring?"

Ronon gave a feral-like grin that sent Carson to his heels, no more questions asked.

The range turned out to be a metal box about the size of a garage. John was waiting outside, flushed with adrenaline, his suit not looking the least bit crumpled. "Hey. You ready?"

"What the hell is going on here?" Carson took in his appearance. "I feel like I've been thrown onto a bloody amusement park ride."

John thought about it quickly. "I think it's this place. Everyone around here just . . .does things. . .makes me want to do things too, you know?" He took Carson's arm while jerking his head at Ronon, gesturing to the building behind them. Ronon grinned like a schoolboy and hurried inside. "I admit, these weapons have us pretty excited." He held up a finger as Carson started to comment. "I'm not keeping all the fun to myself, you'll be excited too. But I want to surprise you."

"By what?"

"You'll see."

"Where are the others?"

"Teyla's still working out their means of trade. Rodney, well, to tell you the truth I have no idea what he's doing, he should be planet-side by now." John suddenly stopped as that realization hit him. "Guess I should find him. But after this." And they walked for a full twenty minutes before stepping onto an elevated platform. John showed Carson how to grab onto a bar, and the doctor nearly peed as the platform rose, hovered, then took off toward the outskirts of the city.

It stopped outside a large building which looked like all the others except for the lettering out front. "Genetics Research" Carson muttered. He felt a flutter of excitement, and walked in.

Their elevator was no better than the one in the hotel. John grimaced. "They're all like this," he said apologetically once it stopped the decent, and opened the doors.

Any concerns about leaving his vital organs on the surface vanished as he took in the room. "Bloody hell." Carson walked wide-eyed into a research lab the size of a school auditorium.

John grinned. "Worth the trip, huh? And this is just the first floor of the laboratory."

"This is the wing for genetic research?"

"This is apparently where they study to become supermen. Not that I have any ambition towards that myself."

"Do any of these people show signs of having the gene?" His emphasis showed clearly which specific gene he was referring to.

"A lot of them do, but they don't think anything of it." John followed Carson as he walked between the tables, peering at the computer screens. He flashed his guest badge at one inquiring glance. They merely nodded him on. "Seems to operate some of their technology, like with us, but does little else, so they pretty much disregard it as anything special."

"Probably just another everyday garden variety to a race such as this." Carson slowly walked over to a young lady bending over a microscope. Her hair was dark and pulled back tight. She looked up at Carson, who flashed his pass, and turned without saying a word, writing on her clipboard as she walked to another table.

Carson crept over and peered into the microscope. Fascination seized him and he found himself sitting on the stool as though he belonged there, adjusting the focus on the instrument. "I'll be damned."

"Can I help you?" The lady was back, and spoke in a curt voice.

Carson jumped. "Oh, love, hi. Yes. This, this is amazing, what is this?" He peeked into the instrument once again.

The young lady seemed pleased that he showed an interest. "This is a cross strand I've been experimenting with."

"I've never seen anything like it." He looked at John with a startled expression. "These people are apparently able to manipulate DNA on a level that we merely hypothesize about. Look. Oh, may I?" He gave what he had been told was an irresistible smile, and the lady gave in.

John took a seat and looked through the instrument, adjusting the focus to suit his sight. "Okay doc, what am I looking at?"

Carson leaned over his shoulder and spoke softly. "It appears to be a building block. A single molecule of DNA at it's most basic level, divided from the rest and isolated."

John continued to look. "I take it we can't do this at home?"

"Not to this degree, no." He lowered his voice further. "Even with the ancient technology we can't break it down this minutely. This is a branch of genetic engineering that we cannot even hope to touch. At this rate, they will be capable of completely rebuilding the double-helix."

John looked up. "This is big."

"Aye." Carson waved for John to move, and resumed his seat. He returned to gazing, then looked at a chart laying beside another clipboard. "Genetic coding." He studied the symbols.

John waited, but Carson was engrossed. "Seems you've apparently died and gone to DNA heaven," John finally said, "so I'll let you float on that cloud a bit. I'm gonna go track down Rodney, see what he's up to. You behave, okay? Don't want any little DNAletts running around yelling for daddy Carson."

"Oh, on with you, already," Carson muttered, already absorbed in his work. The lady was back at his side, her voice low and sensual, but John was convinced Carson wasn't the least bit aware of it.

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Carson studied the screen before him, watching the double helix spin slowly. Various colors rotated in the edges and changed into other colors, and he wasn't certain just why they were doing that. He hadn't been surprised to find that their DNA was really no different from his own, that would stand to reason. But something was strange about it, despite his reasoning. There was something missing, or replaced, or something, because it didn't look quite right. It was much like a memory poking at him, teasing him because he had no clue what the matter was. And it was frustrating, very frustrating. He should know this. Dammit, he should _know _this!

"There you are." A cocky voice floated across the room, and despite his current agitation, Carson felt relieved at the sound.

"Hello, Rodney." He turned his chair. "Did you know that Colonel Sheppard is looking for you?"

"Oh, really? Hmm." He bounced on the balls of his feet, recognizing the gleam in his friend's eyes. "So what do you think of this, huh?"

"It's amazing, only I can't make sense of what I'm seeing."

Rodney leaned over Carson's shoulder and gazed at the spiral. "Double helix. Where'd you graduate from again?"

"Aye, I know that. It's this I can't understand." He pointed to the changing colors.

"Looks like the internal structure is changing."

"No, it isn't. That isn't possible."

"Why?"

"Because . . .it isn't! Not to this degree. This strand hasn't stopped changing since I started watching it."

"It wasn't possible for that device to do what it did to blow up a solar system. So sue me." Rodney straightened, not noticing the startled look on his friend's face. "Look, I can't stay long. Just checking in with you."

"Everyone is in such a rush about this place!" Carson complained. "I feel like bloody Alice. I keep expecting to see a white rabbit hop around the corner!"

"You sound like Sheppard. Must just be the environment. But as it is," he glanced at his watch, "I have another appointment with Legit Barial." He looked confused. "I hope it's not another Q&A."

Carson resumed studying the helix. "What do you mean?"

"Nothing, really. I'll see you later." He waved and walked off quickly, leaving Carson to stare after him.

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Why the legit had taken such an interest in Rodney really did puzzle him. It almost unsettled him. It wasn't enough that the man looked like death warmed over, hell, he looked more like death presented on a platter as an example to the guests. But the questions were disturbing. No one had ever taken such a personal interest in him, well, not since . . .ever. Even his parents and teachers were never so probing. His sister was only when he was talking with someone she was interested in dating, and that was only because her questions of concern would inevitably lead to questions about _him_, whichever _him _it would happen to be at the time. If he wasn't used as a human fact finder, he was a human dating service. He sincerely hoped that the legit's interest was in the former and not the later.

Their conversations were actually quite enjoyable. They discussed physics (which he obviously excelled in), philosophy (who would have thought he actually had morals), work ethics, accountability, business. He was allowed to patter on with his own theories about the workings of the universe, about its dubious beginnings, about the limits of particle physics, about how he wanted to achieve so much but never had the time. It was this last statement that caused him embarrassment, as though he had said too much, and he blamed it on the empty glass which sat before him on the table. But the legit seemed singularly pleased, and pressed him. What would he do if he had more time? Did he really hate to sleep? Were all the people on his planet like him? Rodney had laughed out loud at that. He couldn't help it.

And he left each meeting with the sense of having had a good conversation. He also had the sense that he was slowly being torn apart and analyzed. And rather than talking to his friends about his misgivings, he would find himself staring at a canvas in a filthy basement while Joseiah talked to him in his soothing voice, and fitted those pieces right back in.

Rodney would fill the canvases with color, nothing truly amazing in its technique, but more of a man trying to find his way out of increasing confusion. Sometimes the canvas would reflect his talks. Sometimes he would try for a scene, never with much success. But it didn't matter to him. For once in his life, the outcome didn't matter.

The revelation came to him one evening as he stepped outside, looked up the street at the large buildings of the main city, and said, "How can a place so reflective look so dull?"

He didn't notice the startled glance Joseiah gave him.


	4. Chapter 4

_When a country is in harmony with the Tao,_

_the factories make trucks and tractors._

_When a country goes counter to the Tao,_

_warheads are stockpiled outside the cities._

_There is no greater illusion than fear,_

_no greater wrong than preparing to defend yourself,_

_no greater misfortune than having an enemy._

_Whoever can see through all fear_

_will always be safe._

_- Tao Te Ching 46_

Carson had spent three days in the lab before it hit him. He returned to the hotel that night and gathered everyone into his room, whether they wanted to come or no, not caring if they had a busy day and didn't want to listen to a lecture. This was important. They sat around what served as his dinning table, all suited, looking like they belonged in a top floor business meeting.

"That's why the Wraith can't feed on them. Look at this." He was practically throwing sheet of paper at his temporary team. "It has to do with the genetic enhancement. It's like there are no natural life forces left, and that's a bit unappetizing to the buggers." Carson's voice was full of wonder.

"So they've inadvertently created a wraith-free world," John said, turning the sheet upside down. "Nice. All we have to do is become supermen and they'll leave us alone, too."

"I thought we knew that already," Rodney groused.

"So you are saying these people are not alive?" Teyla asked nervously.

"Don't seem like it," Ronon muttered.

"Oh, they are very much alive," Carson said, and pointed to a set of formulas nestled in the center of the page. "But they are almost chemical machines in a sense, and on a level that I can barely comprehend, to be perfectly honest. I mean, we are all machines, but they are more. . . mechanical in an organic sense." He winced.

"I get what you're saying, Doc," John soothed.

"I can understand some of their research," Carson continued, "but there are aspects of it that doesn't make any sense whatsoever. It leaves me feeling a bit angry, to tell you the truth. And not only that," he turned to Rodney, "it seems they've taken a liking to you. They're asking questions, and to be honest it's making me a bit nervous."

Rodney peaked. "Questions? What sort of questions?"

"Questions about your work ethics. Your stamina. Your commitment to a project. It is idle chat, really, but odd questions."

Rodney swallowed heavily. "All are excellent aspects of my nature, of course, but why are they interested?" He found himself comparing what Carson said with his own conversations with the legit, and felt his stomach turn.

Carson threaded his fingers together. "The best I can understand it is, they are able to unravel the genetic code, and insert bits of the strand back in. This creates a change on the most absolute basic molecular level. The thing is, not all of the change is artificially created. They use live DNA strands as well."

"Live?" John frowned. "Wouldn't that mean . . ."

"Aye. They take it from a live being, yes."

John leaned forward. "Are you saying they want to dissect McKay and lump him into the gene pool?"

"The questions seem to lead that way."

"Do they even know him?"

"Hey!" Rodney protested. He turned to Carson, his concern showing. "Seriously, they want to slice me open?"

"It's nothing like that. Merely removing the tiniest possible strand of your DNA and transplanting it."

"Oh. Well, that doesn't sound so bad."

"Oh, come on," John huffed.

Rodney ignored him. "Is that what this is about?" he asked Carson.

"How do you mean, lad?"

"I mean, the legit has been asking those same kinds of questions." He shook his head. "If he wanted me to help, why didn't he just come out and say it?"

"Wanted you to help . . .Rodney, what are earth are you on about?"

Rodney shrugged. "Oh, I don't know. I could stand to stay young, keep working, not lose my abilities due to non-preventable decrepitness." He smacked his palm on the table top. "What the hell. I say let's do it."

"Rodney!"

"McKay, can it." John sighed. "Carson, is he in any danger?"

"Oh, I doubt it. They are merely showing curiosity, but I doubt anything would come of it. We're off-worlders, and they have a fairly strict code of keeping the genetic line within their own kind."

"Wouldn't want to contaminate them," Ronon said wryly.

"Oh, that's funny," Rodney muttered. "Don't I have a say in this?"

"No," the others chorused, effectively shutting him down.

"It warrants more research," Carson continued. "While I'm not proposing we take the genetic manipulation to the level that they have, it would certainly be a benefit to figure out how they have been able to remove the faulty strands. If a person is prone to a genetic weakness, such as disease, and we can isolate it to the degree that they have done, then it would be of great benefit."

"Oh, so now it's faulty strands?" Rodney snapped. "I thought they wanted my genius?"

Carson pressed his lips together tightly as John intervened. "Keep with what you're doing, doc. A bit more study could be a good thing, not to mention we should try and find out just what their intentions are. You," he stood and pinched Rodney on the neck, "come with me."

They rose and entered the hall outside Carson's room, where John released Rodney with a slight shove. "Are you insane?"

Eyes rolled. "What now?"

"Genetic manipulation? You're actually volunteering for this?"

Rodney crossed his arms. "Oh, like it hasn't been done before! Hello? ATA gene ring a bell? No, of course not. Not to Mr. Wave-a-hand-and activate-all."

"You're actually going to stay pissed at me about that, aren't you? You know good and well I'm not the only one that can activate that chair, or anything else on Atlantis!" He waved a hand at Rodney. "Besides, now you've got it, thanks to the good doc! So what's your problem?"

"My problem is, there is a chance I can become even better, as hard to believe as that may be, and everyone is jealous!"

John crossed his own arms, mirroring Rodney. "I thought there was nothing better than genius."

"And I offer them genius!"

"So you're saying you want people around that are as smart as you? What would that do to your ego?"

"The conversations would certainly be more stimulating!"

"I don't believe this."

"I'm saying, if I can stay younger, live longer, then what's the big deal? You know Atlantis needs me, and will for years to come! Where would you be without me, huh? Whale food on the bottom of the ocean, that's where!" He jabbed a finger towards the outside. "Have you seen these people work? How much would that commitment and stamina improve our own situation? Don't you think there is a reason they are as productive as they are? What if the Wraith laid siege to the city again and I couldn't sleep for days due to the workload? What if everyone in the city had this enhancement? Wouldn't it increase our chances?"

John stepped forward angrily. "You need to shut the fuck up," he practically growled. "What you're proposing is pure insanity."

"We're already there, Colonel! Look at the ATA gene."

"That was necessary to help operate the city!"

"And what of Michael? Huh?" Rodney didn't back down. "We're already there, Colonel. Just not on the level of understanding that they have. Now you know as well as I do, once Carson has that understanding, all ethics fly out of the window. Hence Michael. Therefore what I do or do not volunteer for shouldn't be an issue."

John gritted his teeth. "I suggest you watch what you say."

"Or what? You'll send your new friends with their stun guns after me? A more efficient way of killing, less mess." He stood nose to nose with John. "You're caught up in the same game, oh pal my pal. Only rather than genetics or physics, your playing pieces are weapons."

John's fist clenched. He glared at Rodney, his chest burning, every part of him wanting to smack that snide expression from that confident face. "It is a matter of defense." He bit through each word.

"Yes, well, so is this. Level of degrees, Colonel. One day aesthetic weapons aren't going to be enough. Then we'll have to dig deeper."

"I couldn't imagine a world of 'yous' walking around."

Rodney's face hardened. "Pity. 'Cause there's already a world of 'yous' walking around, and I think we'd make a good compliment." He spat out the last word and started down the hall.

"Where are you going?"

"What do you care?"

A hand grabbed his arm, pulling him to a startled stop. "I care!" John yelled.

Rodney looked at him for a moment, at the sudden regret in his friend's eyes, and jerked his arm away. "I'm just going to talk to someone. I won't be gone long."

"Rodney," John said to his back as he resumed walking, "when you go outside, take an honest look around. Tell me this is what you want Atlantis to become." He stayed in the hall long after Rodney had rounded the corner, then made a fist and headed toward the armory.

And the camera that was firmly mounted on the wall, yet out of sight, followed every move.

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Teyla stood in front of the trading center the next morning. She pulled her jacket around her, adjusting the fit as she examined the building that towered high above her. No intimidation, she told herself, focus. She reached for the door, and walked in.

Her meeting was with a Ms. Landerthol. She was there for a job. It was the first time she had ever asked for employment, and with some coaching from Colonel Sheppard, she felt she was ready for the interview process. If she were to be able to produce, she needed to be on the floor. The only way to do that was to become employed.

And so she found herself on the floor an hour later on a trial basis, watching the symbols fly over head, studying them carefully, looking for fluctuations. She didn't yell, as these people did, not yet. They worked so fast, she had to wonder if they were even able to see what was right before their eyes. After about fifteen minutes of studying, she was recognizing a pattern. And she took a seat at her desk, near the center of the action, and watched the symbols. She watched the people walk quickly from one desk to the next, gauging their actions, their signals, the way they unintentionally revealed their thoughts and intentions. And she stared to smirk.

When she jumped up with a quote and yelled to sell, the floor fell silent. Teyla snatched away one of the portable talking devices and spoke rapidly into the mouthpiece, her eyes on the screen on her desk. One lady leaned over and noticed the numbers, and quickly followed suit. The floor suddenly exploded with activity, and Teyla was right in the center of it.

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"It is the battle of man, no matter where he is in the universe," Joseiah said, dipping his brush into the clear fluid. "Nature versus machine. I've seen it many times."

Rodney merely grunted as he studied the canvas before him.

Joseiah managed a smile. "Something tells me you're not up to conversation."

"I just don't want to be lectured on the principles of right and wrong."

"I'm not going to lecture you. You already know. That's why you came here." He chose a bright red, and drew a streak on the canvas.

"What are you, a sage now?" Rodney speared his glass of water with the brush and wiped his fingers in irritation.

"You'll never paint in this state of mind."

"Maybe I don't want to paint."

"You're here."

"Maybe I just needed to clear my head."

"Walking does that."

Rodney realized just how stiff he was, and let himself slump. "Yeah. Guess I should go, then."

"I wasn't suggesting you leave." Joseiah sighed. "You offworlders are all the same. You come here too much in a rush to discover something good to realize that maybe all advancement isn't a good thing." He gestured. "I'll come with you. These fumes are giving me a headache."

Rodney mounted the stairs and emerged into the darkness. The yellow orbs of the streetlights shone above him, haloed in the increasingly damp air. "How often does it rain here?"

"Not very," Joseiah said from behind him. He had pulled a jacket over his paint-splattered shirt, even though the air was warm. He buttoned it. "It is a bit damp out tonight, isn't it?"

Rodney eyed the jacket and said nothing.

They walked down the street, noting that no one was out. The houses were dark; the buildings in the distance were darker. The place felt deserted, yet the unmistakable hum of the city was felt in the sidewalk beneath their feet, showing that somewhere there was still plenty of activity going on. For all he knew, it was coming from within the houses. "Why do you live in the dark?"

"Do what?"

"Every time I see you, you're in the basement with candles. Surely you don't live down there."

"I live above. But I spend most of my free time downstairs."

"And what do you do for work?"

Joseiah raised his eyebrows. "I am a geneticist."

Rodney halted. "You? Wait, you're the . . ."

"Yes."

"Banneth." Rodney rolled his eyes as he came to a stop. "I can't believe I didn't make the connection before."

"Severie Banneth, who owned the laboratory, was my brother. I took over when he died four years ago."

"What killed him?"

Joseiah pointed up. "Those."

Rodney followed his gesture as streaks of red darted across the sky like the brush strokes on Joseiah's canvas. His breath caught in panic, and the ground beneath him rumbled. "What is that?" he squeaked loudly. "Are those missiles?

"Test firing, should we ever be attacked. There is a lot of technology and information that many systems would love to get their hands on." He eyed Rodney. "It is why we are leery of off-worlders."

"You didn't seem so leery of us!"

"You do not have all of the facts at hand."

"I can see that." Rodney spun nervously as another missile streaked over his head. "Where's the target?"

"An abandoned military base just outside the city."

"I assume there's nothing left there that can explode?"

"When I say abandoned, I mean completely."

Rodney just nodded as two more missiles darted overhead. He braced himself for the ground-shattering impact. "Why is everyone indoors?" He was just waiting for doors to fling open and people to rush outside in a panic.

"It is the order."

Rodney spun. "Then why the hell are we _outdoors_?" He watched another missile fly, and turned to Joseiah in amazement. "You knew about this. You brought me out here to see it. A little laser-light show between friends, I see. Can we go in now before one of us gets blown to hell and gone?"

"You really think that shack would protect us?"

Rodney sighed in resignation as he studied the stairway back behind him. "Point taken."

"Besides, their aim is true."

"True to what they want to aim at, sure." He suddenly felt ill, and wondered what Colonel Sheppard was doing at that moment.

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"What's the range on these things?" Sheppard was watching the mini bombardment from an underground bunker.

"Unlimited."

"Not possible."

"I assure you."

John scratched his chin and watched the small blips on the screen. "You sure that place is abandoned?"

"We conduct tests periodically. The people are prepared."

John turned. "Wait. Not abandoned?"

"Underground, as are we."

John nodded uncertainly, then felt an unexplained chill. He turned and looked at the grim face behind him.

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Rodney followed the last missile with his eyes, wincing at the bright glare and tremor that followed. "How often do you conduct these tests?"

"Once every few moons. I suppose they have the intention of showing off for your friends." Joseiah tucked his hands into his pockets and nodded. " Now he'll see first hand what it feels like."

"What are you talking about?" Rodney's head jerked upward as a whistle sounded in the air, and red streaks soared over head, opposite the way they were first fired. "Oh, no . . ."

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The impact threw John off his feet. "What the hell?"

"It's normal. We'll be fine down here."

"They're firing at us!"

"Of course!"

John cursed and pushed away from the console, rounded on the military man of no easily discernable designation that stood behind him. "Where is Ronon? You sent him to the other base, didn't you?"

"It was best to have this action observed from both ends."

"Son of a bitch! You fired on my friend!"

"As he is now firing on you."

John's brows furrowed in disbelief, and he braced himself as another tremor rocked the bunker. "How old is this place?"

"It will hold."

Another tremor threw John to his back as small debris rained down upon them. "You think so?" he managed to yell from the floor.

"It has been while since we were fired upon," the man yelled back.

"How long?"

"Several years."

"YEARS?" he bellowed. "Get out, now!"

The voice was wooden. "We are well fortified . . ."

"NOW!" But it was too late. The room rained in on top of him.

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Rodney watched as the last missile flew overhead, and thought of the red streaks in Joseiah's painting. "It's beautiful in a way. I remember when At. . .being in an attack. Sheppard and I kept going out onto the balcony to watch the weapons explode against the shield." The sky above him darkened once again. "It was the most beautiful and terrifying thing I'd ever seen."

"War is poetic," Joseiah agreed. "But it still leaves people dead."

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Ronon was driving like a bat out of hell. The odd jeep he'd stolen from his bunker bounced and skidded along the roads, uneasy with the unskilled hands that were guiding it.

Ronon could care less.

First of all, they didn't say a thing about him being fired upon. Much less about him firing back. And yes, he was military, and no, he didn't have such a problem with killing, it was in his blood. But he did have a problem with firing back on a bunker just to prove a point, especially when he found out his CO there.

He hadn't asked. He just left.

The way back was easy. It was a straight shot down the road, set off to the side of the city. He wondered how many other bunkers lined the area, and if maybe their weapons and defense systems were more than they were letting on, because there was no way that setting two bunkers perpendicular to each other made any kind of strategic sense. Not for a place this large. There was no element of surprise. There had to be other defenses other than a storage closet kept underground. Even if that storage closet was easily the size of four jumper bays.

There was plenty these weren't sharing. Ronon gritted his teeth and turned the wheel hard.

There had been no contact. They were supposed to contact each other after the test to see what went right, what went wrong. When there was no response, Ronon merely said, "I'm gone," and left. He couldn't comprehend the almost nonchalant attitude of the people he was with. The bunker would withstand the attack. And if it didn't, they would rebuild. Nothing was said about the people inside. Of course, if he understood Dr. Beckett, they would merely find a way to manufacture more soldiers.

Fires burned around him, not out of control, but neither were they contained. At his bunker, crews were already putting the fires out. Fear clenched in his chest and he spun the wheel again, squealing to a stop before a blackened patch of ground.

The door in the dirt was stuck. He pulled and grunted, and yelled out in fury before it gave. Giving himself no time to think, he started shifting debris and making his way down the stairs.

The remaining walls seemed stable, barely. Dirt was everywhere, beams and machinery fallen and tumbled. Bodies pitched over them at odd angles, a few groaning. He stopped at the side of one man, shifting a beam from him and turning his head carefully.

The man blinked up at him. "Bunker failed."

"I see that. Where is Colonel Sheppard?"

The man pointed behind him and coughed.

Ronon patted his chest and crunched his way through the debris. "Sheppard? Can you hear me?" His voice was deep and powerful enough to cause a rumble in the unstable structure. He cautiously pushed at a door, coughing as dirt and dust rained in around him. The door frame swayed to the side. He caught it to keep it from falling, and it held. Ducking inside, he found much the same scene, bodies laying about, some moaning, machines everywhere. One grey pant leg could be seen, and he lunged for it.

"Sheppard?" Ronon cursed and shoved at the large metal box that half covered the body. He bent down, unable to move it, and yelled in frustration. "Sheppard!" A large hand patted the colonel's cheek roughly.

John coughed and turned his head away.

Ronon smiled, teeth glowing in the dim light. He looked around, but no one looked in good enough shape to help him. He stood and planted his hands firmly underneath the lip of the box, he had no idea what it did but was certain it was supposed to be sitting up, and pushed with everything he had. Beneath it, Sheppard moaned.

It shifted, and finally rolled, and Ronon was back by John's side, gently probing, stopping when John yelled out as his ribs were touched. "Sorry," grumbled the large man, and he again looked around for help. There was no one able enough. That left a hard decision. On the other hand, they were being left to die, and he was better than that.

"This is gonna hurt," Ronon muttered, and lifted John into his arms, wincing and ignoring the cry of pain that was quickly stifled by John's pride. He forced down an "I told you so" and carried him out, placed him in the jeep, and searched for the radio device. There was no static on the other end, no response to his pleas to help the trapped men. He cursed and threw the device down, and dove back inside.

He had three men out before the bunker completely collapsed.

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There was nothing like news of injured to bring a family together, or most of one. Teyla hovered at the foot of John's bed. Ronon was beside him, as was Carson. Rodney had yet to arrive.

"I need to get him back to Atlantis. No way am I gonna let those scoundrels treat him here." Carson placed a cool hand on the sleeping man's forehead.

"They would have left him to die."

"Aye, so you've said." Carson sighed and turned to Ronon. "I take it the other men you pulled out were taken to the proper medical facility?"

"I had someone else drive them."

"You did a good thing, getting them out."

"It wasn't enough."

"It was all you could do." There was a loud knock at the door. Carson turned back to his patient, and looked up sharply as Teyla entered with Legit Barial.

"Most unfortunate," he said, looking down at the sleeping man. "Of course you may take him back through the gate. I will see it is arranged."

"I want to know what on earth possessed you to fire at occupied bunkers!" Carson said heatedly.

"It was not under my authority." He sounded truly regretful. "I merely heard of the incident afterwards."

"You have no jurisdiction over military matters?"

"I oversee the process of the city. Unfortunately it does not mean I have control over every aspect."

"They were shooting missiles over the city, man! How could you not have known that would happen?"

Drawn eyes met Carson's. "Because I was not told," he simply.

"We're leaving." Carson stood and took the gurney that had been provided.

"I should stay here," Ronon said pointedly while moving to stand beside Teyla. His intent was obvious. There was no way he was leaving her on this strange place alone, and they had no clue where Rodney was.

Carson nodded. "I'll be back with a report. In the meantime I suggest you two stay here in this room, okay?"

"You'll get no argument from me," Ronon muttered, but his death glare said different. Which was exactly why Carson wanted him to stay put, and was the reason Teyla put her hand on his arm with reassurances that he would do so. The last thing they needed was yet another confrontation.

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The smells were achingly familiar. John knew he wasn't in Barus before opening his eyes. His aches told him exactly where he was, that and the persistent beeping, even the sheets felt too familiar. It was a bad thing that he knew the infirmary so well.

"How are you, lad?" Carson asked softly.

John blinked up at him. "What happened?"

The doctor sighed and took a seat beside his patient. "You were in the bunker when it was fired upon. Do you remember?"

John furrowed his forehead, trying to remember. His eyes closed. "Yeah. I do now."

"Ronon managed to rescue you and three others. The rest died."

"Rescue not fast enough, then. They should work on that. Ronon . . ."

"He's fine. They should bloody well work on not attacking their own trapped in an underground bunker! And there was no rescue."

John raised his head. "Excuse me?"

Carson leaned forward to place a hand on the colonel's arm. "John, if it wasn't for the fact that Ronon left to find you when he did, you'd be dead with the lot of them. There was no rescue attempt."

"I see." His head settled back on the pillow. "Guess I should thank the big guy."

Carson tried to read John's expression, and decided there were too many emotions flowing across his face to make the effort worthwhile. He patted John's shoulder instead. "You've massive bruising, cracked ribs. Nothing broken, but it will hurt to breath and move for a good while."

"When can I go back?"

"Give it a few days. I have to go back soon myself, as I promised Ronon a report in person."

"They have good weapons, Carson."

"Oh, don't get me started on their bloody weapons!" Carson rose. "You could've died due to their lack of caring! You are supposed to be the guest, the one they are trading with! They tried to kill you!"

"Carson . . ."

The doctor leaned in. "Why on earth do you think they would stick you in an unfortified bunker and fire a weapon at you, lad? They wanted you dead."

John shook his head slowly. "Why? That makes no sense."

"I'm no expert in social graces, but apparently they've found something they want, and are afraid you won't agree to it."

"I need to get back."

"No," Carson pressed him down gently, "_I_ need to get back. You need to rest here, at least for a day. Please, John."

The urgency in Carson's voice made him want to jump out of the bed. "There's something you're not telling me, Doc."

"Rest."

"One day only, unless something happens."

"I'll take that, for now."

"And take Lorne back with you!"

"Aye, I'll do that. I'll be back quick as I can." Carson managed a smile, and hurried out.

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"What do you mean, he's not back? It's been seven hours!"

"He's not here, doc," Ronon said simply. "We've searched the streets."

"I said to stay put!" Ronon merely looked at him, and Carson sagged into a chair.

"I did hear him speak of a man in passing, someone he had become friends with," Teyla supplied. "Perhaps he is with him."

"Great! Where is this man?"

Teyla exchanged a glance with Ronon. "We do not know."

"Aye, wonderful." Carson sighed as a knock sounded. Ronon walked to the door and answered it, flinging the door open wide and leaning against the frame, preventing entrance.

"Uh, yes." The woman that stood there glanced over him, taking in the firm stance made obvious by firm muscles. "Is-is a Ms. Teyla Emmagen present?"

"Who wants to know?" Ronon asked.

"Linsey. I am here." Teyla smiled and gave Ronon a look of warning. "I assume the negotiations will proceed as normal?"

"The Premier is ready for you."

"And I am ready for the Premier," Teyla said firmly.

"Wait," Carson sat up, "you're proceeding with the negotiations? After what happened?"

"I believe this would be a good chance to get the answers we require."

"Oh, no. Love," Carson rose quickly and grabbed Teyla's arm. "This would be a very, very bad time for that."

"If what the legit says is true and the government isn't responsible for the weapons launch, then we can't pass up this opportunity to open trade."

"Someone knew that both Ronon and Colonel Sheppard were in those bunkers! What if whoever is responsible should come for you? What if someone doesn't want us here? And what of Rodney?"

"I must at least talk to them." Teyla was adamant. "Perhaps I can find answers to these questions."

"But. . ."

"Carson!" Teyla exclaimed, exasperated. "As far as I know, this talk concerns only my getting a position as one of their negotiators. It is hardly worthy of this concern."

Ronon leaned in. "Are you ready for this?"

The fire in her eyes was the only answer he needed.

Ronon gave a nod of approval, knowing that this Premier was about to get a what-for. "I'm coming with you."

"That will not be necessary."

"It's not a problem. I'll wait outside."

"That isn't what I meant," Teyla looked back at Carson, and sighed at the adamant gaze staring back. "Very well." She turned fully to face the doctor. "And where will you be?"

He sighed, knowing he couldn't argue her down. "I'll be right here, love." He patted the arm of his chair. "With the good Major Lorne to keep me company."

"Right." Teyla spun. "Shall we go?"

The door closed behind them, and Lorne turned to Carson. "Why are we negotiating with people we don't trust?"

"It isn't so much that we don't trust them, it's just that . . ." his mouth worked, and he finally closed it.

"Mm-hm." Lorne eyed the wetbar. "Care for a drink while we wait?"

"You're on duty."

"Doesn't mean I can't have some water. You on the other hand, you look like you could use a stiff one. And while we drink, you can fill me in." He was already pouring his water, and turned for an answer from Carson.

Who sighed. "Aye, lad. And be sure to make it a very stiff one."


	5. Chapter 5

_Weapons are the tools of fear;_

_a decent man will avoid them_

_except in the direst necessity_

_and, if compelled, will use them_

_only with the utmost restraint._

_He enters a battle gravely,_

_with sorrow and with great compassion,_

_as if he were attending a funeral._

_- Tao Te Ching 31_

"I do not require a body guard."

"I know."

"I am perfectly capable of looking after myself."

"I know."

Teyla sighed in frustration. "Then why are you here?"

"Moral support."

Teyla laughed.

Ronon grinned and eyed the streets. "It's about time for the stampede, isn't it?"

Teyla glanced at the watch she had recently acquired. "I believe so."

"We should hurry."

"I agree."

"Your people hold very strange conversations," Linsey said, walking in front of them.

Teyla gave Ronon a knowing look and cleared her throat. "Is there anything I should know in advance about this meeting? Will it require the use of your machines?"

Linsey threw a puzzled look over her shoulder. "What are you talking about?"

"The huge machines that flash the symbols across the screen. I have been studying the means of your trade, only I do not have access to such a system."

Linsey stopped in her tracks. "That is for intercontinental trading only."

"I do believe what we are about to undertake would constitute interplanetary trade. Would that require the use of larger machines?"

"I believe the Premier has a plan already in place. Machines will not be required." She turned smartly and resumed her walk. She didn't feel Teyla's wrathful gaze, fueled by hours of useless study.

They reached the door right as the streets filled.

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"So these people really are nuts," Lorne muttered.

"I have a theory," Carson said, leaning forward. The drink had loosened his tongue, which was Lorne's intent, because he had wanted to know exactly what Carson felt about the situation. At the same time, he was well aware that Carson Beckett was no fool; he knew exactly why Lorne had fixed him a drink. "My theory is this. After so much genetic therapy as these poor devils are taking, it starts to interfere with anything they have that can still be considered natural. At some point the body will start to fight itself, and the result will be a sort of madness."

Lorne leaned forward as well. "So not only are these people slowly going insane, but they have enough weapons to destroy entire planetary systems."

"Mostly deactivated, according to the military . . ."

"Except that they're not . . ."

"There were a few left operational, as I understand it. But what's to stop them from making more of these weapons ready for use? They claim they need some sort of chemical compound to do this . . ."

"And this being a trading world, getting that compound in great quantities would be easy."

Carson nodded. "The Colonel told me something before I returned here. He doesn't believe those weapons are old and out of use. He believes they are actually new weapons, being constructed under our very noses."

Lorne sat back slowly. "New weapons needing one thing to set them off, in the hands of madmen. This is great. But why negotiate to get rid of them?"

Carson shook his head. "Not those. Remember, those are useless and deactivated. They are ridding themselves of their old stock, to create room for the newer. I almost wonder if that bombing was a test of the newer stock."

"Or showing off the old. But what are they getting in return? I assume we don't have this chemical they need, and if we did, we wouldn't give it to them."

"No. If they are desperate enough to rid themselves of the old weapons, I think they would negotiate anything. But it doesn't make sense, especially if we don't have the material to activate them in the first place. I guess they thought we could come up with a substitute."

Lorne shook his head as he thought. "They don't just need the space. There's something else."

Carson nodded as well, and jumped as the door opened. Lorne was on his feet, his hand reaching for his concealed weapon. Three men entered, and one walked up to Carson boldly.

"Dr. Beckett? Your presence is required in the labs. There is something you should see."

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Teyla entered the large room. She was shocked to see that, rather than glowing with a metallic sheen like most of the city, this room was warmed with the rich tones of dark wood. The sound from her small heels rocked against the walls pleasantly. She surveyed the tall walls, the high ceiling, and the intricate carvings on the molding. It caught her eye and held it. Swirls, curves, everything she had not seen in the city was right there in the room. Random, not symmetrical. She wondered why this room was so different, and instantly felt comforted by it.

"I thought you might like it." A grey-haired woman stood on the other end of the long table. Like everyone else, her hair was pulled tightly back, but a loose strand flowed and framed her delicate face. Her dress suit was a light grey, and airy. A white shirt was revealed by way of cuffs and collar. She even wore earrings.

"I do. It is very . . .soothing." Teyla studied the woman as she approached slowly. The woman seemed to take this all in her stride, and Teyla straightened. She extended her hand. "Teyla Emmagen."

"Premier Legit Anaise Barial."

"Barial as in . . ."

"I am his grandmother, yes."

Teyla couldn't help but to marvel. Legit Barial had struck her as a man who had just passed the prime of his life, and here was a woman claiming to be his grandmother, who looked maybe ten years older than the man. "I was thinking more along the lines of a sibling. A sister, maybe."

Premier Anaise laughed. "You flatter me." She gestured with a long, unwrinkled hand. "Please, sit."

Teyla did so, still looking around her. "What is this place?"

"You have heard of The Block, of course?"

"Yes."

"This is the heart of it."

"I thought Legit Barial was the facilitator, that he was overseer of the city."

"He is." Premier Anaise perched on the edge of her desk, crossing her long legs. She leaned in confidentially. "And I am the overseer of Barial."

A phrase the colonel was fond of crept into Teyla's mind. "So you are the . . .head honcho?"

"I am in charge of all." She smiled and pressed a button. A man appeared. She spoke quickly, and he bowed and retreated.

Teyla watched uncertainly. "So I am to negotiate with you . . ."

"I have taken the liberty of ordering some drinks," Premier Anaise interrupted. "I even asked for refreshment be provided for the brute standing outside the door, waiting for you."

Teyla's face froze. She forced herself to smile. "He is not a brute."

"A pet, then." She sniffed disdainfully. "Can't figure he'd be much use for anything else."

"He is a good friend, and a loyal one."

"Much like a pet, I dare say," the Premier said slowly.

Teyla swallowed her irritation. "Perhaps we should proceed."

"But of course." The charm was switched on like a light. "I hear you excel on the trading floor. It is a difficult task to master, please allow me to offer my congratulations."

"Thank you."

"You have earned us a considerable profit on your first day. If you are not careful, we may wish to use your services more often."

The door was open, but considering recent events, Teyla was not yet ready to walk through. "My services are required elsewhere, but I thank you for your offer. I hope it is enough to show that we are sincere in our venture."

"Of course. And you do understand that one day's work will hardly cover the worth of what you require from us."

"Of course." She was afraid to ask how much work was required.

A folder was gently pushed at her. Teyla opened it and studied the contents as the Premier spoke. "This is a catalog of all of our available weapon systems. Some are a bit outdated, but I believe all will be of great assistance with your battle on Atlantis."

Teyla's head snapped up. "Where did you hear about this?"

"Please, child. This is The Block." She waved the question away. "Look over the charts, please, and see if this is acceptable to you." She sat back, straight as a pin, and waited.

Teyla raised her chin and did as was suggested. The schematics meant nothing to her, but it was obvious that what they were offering was substantial. "I – will present this to Dr. Weir," she decided, closing the folder, "and seeing as how this is such a generous offer, now I'll ask what it is you wish for in return." Very generous. So much so that it turned her stomach, and kicked up her fighting instincts. For a moment she felt as though she were in a concrete jungle, being stalked.

The answer was short, precise, and had Teyla on her feet in an instant, her heart pounding in fear. She stared at the woman across from her. "That is it? That is your offer?"

"It is." Premier Anaise didn't move. Her voice was firm, and demanding.

The Athosian took a deep breath. "I see." She pressed her palms firmly against the table, preparing to stand. "I do not understand how you can call this a negotiation."

The woman raised an eyebrow. "We are both getting what we want, are we not?"

"You cannot expect us to trade in such a manner."

"Even though these weapons can wipe out a plague?"

Teyla clenched her jaw. "The amount you offer us is generous."

"And fair."

"No." Teyla stood, forcing her anger down from the bile that gathered in her throat. "Only generous." She raise her chin and turned as calmly as she was able, and walked out.

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"Wait, are you saying you want me to help you?" Carson walked quickly beside the lab assistant he had been passed off to. "I've not been here but a few days, I don't understand your procedures, let alone feel comfortable enough to assist!" He stepped in front of the man, bringing him to an abrupt halt. "Especially not after what has happened with that weapons test! I think you're all bloody insane!"

"We had nothing to do with that. You'll want to assist us, when you see what is going on." the man said simply, and stepped around him. "You are a geneticist."

"Aye, but this is a very delicate matter, a very precise operation that I have neither been trained in nor even exposed to until I met the lot of you!" Carson huffed in frustration and tried again. "Listen, I need more time to research your procedure. I've no desire to kill a man through my own incompetence!"

"You won't kill this man."

"And what makes you so certain?" Carson asked, incredulous.

The man said nothing, just looked at him as he swung open a door and waited for him to pass through.

Carson entered a long, dim hallway, hesitating as the door closed behind him. The cleanliness was almost palatable, like the stench of ammonia. The footsteps of his hard shoes echoed in the silence as he passed a multitude of rooms behind doors with frosted glass on the tops, trimmed in writings he couldn't decipher. It was like walking through a dream.

There was an elevator at the end of the corridor. His stomach rose to his throat as they descended, and he wondered for the billionth time why these people seemed to do everything of importance underground, and why they couldn't come up with a less disconcerting way to descend. He exited feeling slightly light-headed and ill, and stopped to press his hand against the cool wall as he collected himself. The hall that stretched before him looked much the same as the one he had just left, only these doors were solid. They walked to a room marked '21ab' and entered.

The man stayed beside the door, gesturing to a large, dark window on the other side of the room. Carson looked at him in some apprehension, and slowly walked to it, straining to see though the dim light. The light brightened, and he found himself looking at a sterile room with a bed in the center. On this bed was a man, covered head to toe by a crisp, white sheet. "This is your patient," the man by the door said.

"Oh, Holy Saints and Mother above," Carson breathed desperately. He leaned his forehead on the cool glass as he stared at his friend, Dr. Rodney McKay, lying deathly still on the table. He pressed his hand flat against the glass, then looked at the man that had brought him to hell.

There should have been a smirk on his face, but there wasn't. "You will assist," he said calmly.

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Carson, Ronon and Teyla were allowed back through the gate for a conference with Dr. Weir, seeing as how an offer had now been made. Elizabeth was horrified, and agreed to gathered in the infirmary, where John was told the grim news.

"They want what?" John's voice was loud, causing several nurses to turn their heads in disaproval.

"They want Rodney. I saw him. He's lying there all prepped on a table with not a clue in the world as to what is about to happen." Carson's voice was tinged with pain. "I swear I had no idea they would go this far. They seemed eager to share their information in the labs, I mean, once you got to know them. It was strange, though, like talking with animated machinery. Still, I never felt any hostility from them, just that damned sense of superiority they carry about."

"They're not taking no for an answer?"

"I think they understand us. But at the same time, he's there and we're here."

"What's to keep them from doing this thing to him now?" A screen near John's head beeped, making him jump. Carson instantly checked his pulse, and nodded.

But John was in no mood for it. He tried to sit up, and was pressed back down by Elizabeth. "Dammit, let me up!"

"John, there's nothing you can do . . ." she insisted.

"Bullshit!"

"Can I finish?" She glared at him. "I know better than to keep you here. But there is nothing you can do at the moment, so you'll just have to wait."

John looked at Teyla. "What exactly did they offer?" She frowned and passed the folder over, which he scanned, and threw across the room, wincing as he did so. It didn't travel far.

Carson cursed mildly and caught his hand. He searched the violent, hazel eyes and sighed. "Fine. Be that way, just don't come running to me when you've over worked yourself. I can't even keep you in bed for a day."

"I'm fine!"

"You were nearly crushed underneath a console, man!"

"You said I was bruised!"

"Cracked ribs."

"Let me out of this bed. Now." He swung his legs over the side, holding his breath as he did so. There was a hesitation before he continued. "Where is he?"

"He's in one of the underground labs."

"Can you find it again?"

"Aye, I can."

"Lorne?"

The major shook his head. "There is no way to break him out by force, if that's what you're implying. I mean, it can be done, but . . ."

"But what?"

"Well, from what I've heard, we can probably break him out easily. But what we encounter on the surface afterwards, I'm not sure I want to think about."

"What if we used the Daedalus to beam him out?"

"Too far underground. The signal will scramble."

"Well, I wouldn't want to hand his DNA over to them on a platter."

"Colonel," Carson broke in, "there is another reason we didn't come back with him. They claim he volunteered for this process. As I left, they handed me this." He pulled out a small, unfamiliar disk and placed it into a hand-sized drive. He set it onto the table. "They showed it to me, and I didn't believe them. So I asked if I could bring it back here, I was hoping maybe you could explain it." He pressed a button, and an image flashed on the wall opposite them.

_John and Rodney entered the hall, where John released Rodney with a slight shove. "Are you insane?"_

"_What now?"_

"_Genetic manipulation? You're actually volunteering for this?"_

_Rodney crossed his arms. "Oh, like it hasn't been done before! Hello? ATA gene ring a bell? No, of course not. Not to Mr. Wave-a-hand-and activate-all."_

"_You're actually going to stay pissed at me about that, aren't you? You know good and well I'm not the only one that can activate that chair, or anything else on Atlantis!" He waved a hand at Rodney. "Besides, now you've got it, thanks to the good doc! So what's your problem?"_

"_My problem is, there is a chance I can become even better, as hard to believe as that may be, and everyone is jealous!"_

_John crossed his own arms, mirroring Rodney. "I thought there was nothing better than genius."_

"_And I'm offering them genius!"_

"_So you're saying you want people around that are as smart as you? What would that do to your ego?"_

"_The conversations would certainly be more stimulating!"_

"_I don't believe this."_

"_I'm saying, if I can stay younger, live longer, then what's the problem! God knows Atlantis needs me, and will for years to come! Where would you be without me, huh? Whale food on the bottom of the ocean, that's what!" He jabbed a finger towards the outside. "Have you seen these people work? How much would that improve research? What if the wraith laid seige to the city and I couldn't sleep for days due to the workload? What if everyone on the station had this enhancement? Wouldn't it increase our chances?"_

_John stepped forward. "Shut the fuck up," he practically growled. "What you're proposing is pure insanity."_

"_We're already there, Colonel! Look at the ATA gene."_

"_That was necessary to operate the city!"_

"_And what of Michael?" Rodney didn't back down. "We're already there, Colonel." _

Carson turned. "Did you, or did you not, have this conversation?"

John stared. "Yes. Yes, we . . . damn it all to hell!" He pulled at his face. "But there was more to it than that. Is that all you have?"

"It is."

"I'm telling you, there was more to it! He didn't actually agree to anything. Dammit, he didn't agree! He was pissed off! He was curious! He didn't volunteer!"

"They can use this to say he did."

John stood slowly, and paced in irritation.

Elizabeth studied the frozen image projected on the wall. "Why Rodney?"

Carson sighed. "They have information about him. I don't know how they got it, but they know him. They know his single-mindedness, his dedication, and his brilliance. All are traits they breed into their lot, and they want his."

"Don't they have enough?" John snapped.

"Not like his. Not with an ATA gene to throw into the mix."

"Wait," Elizabeth said, "I thought they disregarded the ATA gene."

"It isn't the gene itself," Carson said, "but the fact that it was artificially engineered. The people that have the gene there have it naturally. This way they can transplant the gene. Think mass-production."

"It is an artificially engineered gene that can control ancient technology," John said. "And with their ability to manipulate the DNA strands, they can use this ability and make it fit precisely with what they want. Say, weapons control." John blinked. "To all intents, they are creating human bombs."

"And since I created the ATA gene, they want me to work on him, and I'm certain it won't stop there. They need new DNA, and we have it." He gave a sound that was almost like a desperate sob. "I should never have got into this field. I should've stayed in Edinburgh."

"So they don't need this B9 compound to activate the weapons?" Elizabeth asked.

"They still need it," Ronon said. "If they give him a bit, they won't need as much to activate the weapons." He shrugged at John's sharp glance. "It's been heard of."

"But more importantly," John said slowly, "it would be a way to activate these new weapons they're constructing."

"They're _breeding _weapons," Elizabeth muttered. "My god."

"Elizabeth . . ." John pressed.

She snapped back. "Right. Right, go. Bring him back." She looked at her team. "But you watch yourself in the process." Then she gave John a stern look that he knew was reserved for him and him only.

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They weren't surprised to see a force waiting for them at the gate.

John walked forwards, trying not to show the stiffness and pain he felt. "Where is he?"

Legit Barial met him halfway. "We have the weapons ready for exchange." He gestured without looking back, and seven men pulled several boxes to him. "This is but a meager sample."

"You mean your old, useless weapons." John shook his head. "There is no B9 compound. There is no way to activate these. What you showed us are all duds. There is no trade."

He frowned. "Excuse me?"

"I said no trade!" He swung his P90 from his side and aimed it at Barial. "We want our man back. You can keep your damn weapons."

Barial cocked his head wryly. "That . . .isn't possible."

"Oh, it is. It's a done deal."

"No, I mean, he's already being prepped. In fact, your attendance is required." Barial signaled to the men that had brought him the boxes. They converged on the team, two grabbing Beckett by the arms while the others leveled weapons at them. Ronon was ready to fire, but stopped when he saw one gun placed to Carson's temple. Carson froze, and closed his eyes.

"It would be a pity to kill so many for no reason," Barial said calmly.

"Doesn't seem to have stopped you before," John growled, eyeing the gun pressed to the side of the doctor's head.

He nodded at Teyla. "Take the negotiator. She'll be our assurance against any wrong doings. Everyone else, lock up." He started to walk away.

John swung his weapon around, but it was knocked to the side by a fast man who came from nowhere. The strap snapped in two, and his arms were quickly forced behind him, dragging a cursed groan from him as his chest was abused. "This is kidnapping!" John raged, fighting against the men who held him, seeing Ronon knocked down for the count.

"No," Barial corrected as he turned slowly, calmly. "This is war."

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Carson thought about struggling, until he realized where he was going. He allowed himself to be guided along the identical halls until he was thrown into the room with Rodney. He turned back as the door slammed shut behind him. "Wait here for further instructions, they say," he muttered, "god only knows what those instructions will be." He turned back to his friend, and leaned over him, desperate.

Rodney's skin was too pale. Carson pressed two fingers to Rodney's pulse in his neck, and found it steady. "Thank god. Rodney, can you hear me?" He wasn't expecting anything. It was obvious the man was in such a drugged state that with his luck he wouldn't wake for days. "Dammit, McKay, now isn't the time to be so damn stubborn! I happen to know you hate to sleep when something's going on. Well, something's going on, and it's bloody well gonna happen to you if you don't wake up! So just . . .wake up!" He patted Rodney's cheek, hard. "Come on, come on, come on . . .dammit!" He pulled back before slapping the poor man, clenching his fists as he regained control. Taking a deep breath, he tried again, shaking Rodney's shoulders, holding his head between his hands and talking to him. When he heard the door rattle behind him, he did resort to a despairing slap, grabbing the head as it lolled to the side. "Christ," he muttered in apology, steadying his friend, and looked up.

The room suddenly filled with people and computers. They lined the walls, pushing carts against the sides, plugging things in and up and around. The room filled with a busy sound, but no talking.

Carson leaned over Rodney protectively, keeping his hands on either side of his friend's head as he watched. He never felt so out of place in an environment in which he should by all rights excel. He never felt such panic.

A figure walked in, dressed completely in white. Carson watched him, not letting go of Rodney, not budging even as the man stood right before him and looked, was it sadly? down at his patient. Carson noticed a bit of paint on his thumb.

The man sighed and met Carson's eyes steadily. "I am Dr. Joseiah Banneth. I'll be overseeing the operation."


	6. Chapter 6

_A great nation is like a great man:_

_When he makes a mistake, he realizes it._

_Having realized it, he admits it._

_Having admitted it, he corrects it._

_He considers those who point out his faults_

_as his most benevolent teachers._

_He thinks of his enemy_

_as the shadow that he himself casts._

_-Tao Te Ching 61_

John slammed his fist against the bars over and over until Ronon finally pulled him away.

He cringed as he was forced down. Lorne stood over him, then walked to the edge of the cell. He hadn't said a word since they were locked away, probably wondering where the rest of his men were.

Ronon sighed deeply as he sat beside Sheppard. "McKay causes a good bit of trouble, doesn't he?"

John glared. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"I'm just saying."

"Well, don't!" He shifted uncomfortably. "This wasn't his fault in any way. Hell, he didn't even really do anything here, and yet here he is . . ."

"In trouble again."

"Ronon . . ."

"I didn't say it was his fault. I was just thinking, if he's so valuable, maybe we should lock him in a vault somewhere."

He was joking. Ronon was actually making light of the situation. John stared at him, and saw the solemn expression in Ronon's eyes. There was no mistaking the fact that he would blast through everyone on the planet to get McKay back to Atlantis. Reassured, John leaned his head back against the wall.

"I should've stayed with him," Ronon grumbled.

"We all should've kept better tabs on him." John sighed. "There's this show back on Earth called 'Star Trek'. In it there's this alien character called Spock. He was at least as smart as McKay, and much easier to deal with. Anyway, in one episode his brain was removed." He looked at Ronon. "Maybe we should put McKay's in a jar, and just pull it out when we need it."

"If these people don't do it for us." The reality of what was going to happen to Rodney dulled any humor John was trying to find.

Lorne spoke for the first time. "I wonder if he'll be as smart. I mean, if they do this, are they taking away his smarts?"

"No one's taking away anything," John snapped.

"He'll be even worse without them," Ronon said.

"Unless he doesn't realize what he's missing. I have no idea what this'll do to him, and I'm not sure they know either." Lorne thunked his head on the wall behind him. "I hope Carson can stop this."

Ronon have him a sideways glance. "You think he can?"

"No. Not really." And he thunked his head against the wall again.

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Carson knew he was in trouble. He knew it the minute he said "No", and saw the disappointment in Joseiah's eyes.

Joseiah Banneth sighed. "Please. I know of you. I know the manner of man you are, please do not refuse me."

"And how do you know so much?" Carson was adamant about not moving from his spot. Around him, young men and women were stationed, some holding medical implements, others patiently waiting with the scanners and various other machines. It was the extremely long, painful-looking needle that finally prompted him from his fear, which then set firmly in his stomach as defiance.

"I have talked with him, extensively." Joseiah looked at Rodney almost affectionately. "I was against this."

"You're the friend Teyla mentioned. Judas." He bristled. "How did they know about him, unless you told them?"

"I did tell them. And the legit was already interested in him."

"But why? Why tell them anything if you're against this?"

Joseiah looked at Beckett. "It is my punishment."

Carson sighed in exasperation. "What are you talking about, man?" A woman had advanced, and he sent her a withering look, not leaving McKay's side.

"We are engineered for a purpose, and that is improvement. We are conditioned genetically to become as efficient as possible."

"And you forsake your humanity for that!"

"No."

"But you do! Back off!" he snapped at a young man, "Listen to me. This manipulation of DNA, I know about it. I know what it can do, and in this case you may think you are doing a noble thing, but you aren't. What you are doing is very unnatural. It's very harmful." He glanced around the room. "I mean, look at you! Do you honestly thing you'll live forever? No one does that. You will keep injecting and manipulating and changing until you lose everything that you one were. Your humanity is disappearing, can't you see that?" He started to take a step forward, and changed his mind. "Do you know what happened with the bunkers? A very good friend of mine was nearly killed through your negligence, because you didn't deem the men that died in that bunker worthy of saving. We had to pull him out, and three others besides who just happened to survive. No one went to save them!" He looked at Joseiah. "What happened to the three?"

Joseiah said nothing.

Carson nodded. "They died, didn't they? They were worth saving, but you didn't try. You'll just make more! My god, this is worse than cloning! This population is nothing more than rats on a wheel for you to watch, isn't it?" He set a hand on Rodney's chest. "And by god, I'll die before I let you do that to him, and I'll take him with me if I have to. So don't you bloody well ask me to do a God damn thing!"

Joseiah mulled over what was being said. He clasped his hands behind his back and walked away, then stopped. "Take him."

"What? Take . . .what? No!" Three men rushed from the corner and grabbed him, jerking him away from the table. He watched in horror as the needle was prepped. "No! Stop this! Christ, stop this, you can't do this!" He tried to look over his shoulder as he was shoved toward the door. "Rodney! Rodney, for god's sake wake up! _Wake up, you bloody damned fool_!" And he was shoved out, as the staff descended on his friend like white vultures.

He fought as he was forced down the hallway, still yelling, still struggling. A gloved hand clamped over his mouth, and he felt his arms pulled tight behind him. There was an elastic snap, and he felt something binding his wrists tightly, too tightly. It was now easier for him to be thrust into the elevator. It descended, and for once Carson felt nothing of the motion. He was sick enough inside. One thought coursed through his mind, _I've killed Teyla. I didn't cooperate, so help me god, I've killed her._

He was pushed out and guided down a dark hall. There was no way to tell how far underground he was by now, he only knew from the time it took to descend that the labs were far above him. He had no idea where the others were. Was it to end like this, being locked away to rot while the others died due to his ethics? Christ, he hadn't killed only Teyla. He had killed the whole god damned expedition.

He heard the commotion before he saw anything. His eyes still adjusting, he heard the growl of Ronon's voice as he was flung into a dark room. Strong arms caught him as he stumbled and hit the ground, and the clang of bars rang in his ears. He heard Lorne and Sheppard, thank god, but not Teyla.

"Carson? What the hell happened?" That was Sheppard, and now he could make out the image in the faint light. The colonel was bent over him as Ronon shoved him upright.

"Christ, untie my hands, I can't feel anything. . ." he pleaded in a whisper, the cramp flaming past his elbow. He was pitched forward, and felt Ronon prodding at the bindings.

"What is this?" he asked.

John looked over Carson's shoulder. "Rubber gloves," he told Ronon, and looked into Carson's face, checking for injuries, "circulation's gone, no wonder you hurt. Hang on." There was no way to work at the tiny knot. Ronon finally bent down and nipped at the rubber with his teeth until it snapped. He jerked up, rubbing at his face.

"Thank you," Carson said, shifting and trying to rub his wrists gingerly. The feeling was completely gone from his fingers, so it was hard to do. Lorne squatted down before him and massaged his left palm.

"What happened?" John asked again.

All of the life seemed to leave him at that moment. Carson slumped. "Oh Holy Mary, I couldn't help him." His eyes closed.

"Carson?"

"Leave me be!"

"No." John squatted carefully in front of him. "Talk to me."

Carson gathered himself, and opened pain-filled eyes. "They're working on him right now. I refused to help them, and they . . .where's Teyla?"

"I don't know."

"Oh god." He slumped again.

"Carson, look, calm down." John stood carefully. "I don't think they'll hurt her."

"You saw what they just did to me! Not to mention poor Rodney, how do you know they won't hurt Teyla as well?"

"Gut instinct."

"Oh, aye. Intestinal fortitude, I feel all better now, thanks."

"It's all we have," Ronon said.

"Sure," Carson said. "Well, if you can rip out your intestines and use them to thrash these bastards, I'll consider it an asset."

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Joseiah watched the screen as the staff worked on his new friend. "You understand that I have to do this," he said sadly to the still body below. "I have to defend the right to . . ." he shook his head and turned away. There was no way he could make him understand, especially since the man couldn't hear him to begin with. "They will have me killed for insubordination," he said softly. "For expressing a need that doesn't coincide with the wishes of The Block. My art, you have to understand. That is a part of me I'm not willing to give up. It's all I have left, it is my humanity. They allow it, so long as I serve them in this way. In order to keep myself, I must sacrifice others. And you have so much to offer us. I've seen you. This change, it won't hurt you." He found himself looking at the painting he had brought to his office, of Rodney's rendition of the sea around Atlantis. "You are nothing but a brain, a very brilliant mind. Concise. You are everything they want, and you are pure." He realized that he was now talking to the painting, begging it to understand. "Everyone here has been genetically manipulated so much, there is nothing left. No true DNA in our systems. But you, you have it all. Everything we need to survive. You will tame the wild beast that we are becoming. The painting, it keeps me sane by going against everything The Block stands for. And I'm not the only one." He turned and looked down at Rodney once again as he was prepped. "I promise you. You won't feel a thing."

Again he looked at the painting of the sea. "Not a thing."

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Teyla sat in her cell quietly. The bench was hard, the room was fairly dark. She sat with her chin on her upturned palm and wondered what it was about sentient being that always held the female hostage. Was it breeding rights? Not on this world. No matter where she went, it seemed females were perceived as weak in terms of warfare. Well, there were a few cultures where the battlelords were female. But here, she couldn't imagine a female being held hostage without committing a horrendous crime. So there had to be another reason she in particular would be killed if things went wrong. But for the life of her, she had no idea what it was.

There was a simple ploy for escape; yelling for a guard, smashing his head against the bars, grabbing his keys, and leaving. Except she had no guard.

She had run her fingers over every crook and crevice. Nothing.

What would Elizabeth do? She had a hard time picturing her friend in such a situation. Talk her way out of it, maybe. She was a shrewd a negotiator as Teyla; their diplomacy was the one thing they had in common. Did she know they were prisoners, that Rodney was in immediate danger under Dr. Beckett's hand? Surely she did. Surely there had been another team deployed through the gate that could stop this. They would find Dr's. McKay and Beckett, and free the other team members, and herself, and they could put this world behind them forever. Except for the minor fact that they were slowly going mad, and had weapons, and knew where their home world was.

No so minor a fact, actually.

Teyla took a deep breath and stretched her back. There was a pop in her lower spine, and a pleasant release. She stood and paced, her hands on her hips. There had to be a way to stop this. And surely there was a guard somewhere.

The immediacy of the moment was setting in. She was becoming restless, and angry. Okay. Calm down, breath deeply. She forced herself to relax, rolling her shoulders, shaking out her arms. Better. She closed her eyes and struck a beginning pose, her right arm poised in front, her left pulled back level with her ear as she rocked her weight back to her right foot. She stopped and kicked off her damn heels, and started again. A kick to the front, a reversal of the first position. Another kick, steady stance. She went through the moves, calming her mind, focusing her intention.

She was right about the guard. There was a man watching her from the shadows, just as she thought there might be. And as she continued, he stepped closer, entranced by her dance-like movements and grace. She stopped and eyed him, then continued as though he wasn't there. He stepped closer, and closer until the he was at the bars. "What are you doing?" he finally asked.

"I am performing a combination of exercises common to my people."

"What for?"

She smiled slyly, for she had noticed something as she started her stretches. It was at the top of the center bar. It was a crack, just over the door. "I prefer not to be disturbed. I also suggest that you move."

"What for?"

And these people were genetically enhanced? She concentrated on the bar. The guard didn't move. He wasn't a guard so much as a young boy. Foolish, genetically enhanced people. Did they think she was so weak?

Of course they did. She was the "negotiator". They had no clue.

She smiled. The kick brought the door down on the boy's head. She quickly checked to make certain he wasn't seriously harmed, and made her escape.

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Ronon kicked at his own cell door. It was obvious the cell was in poor condition, which stuck him as odd considering the shiny metals and thickness of everything else. He had a feeling that if he were to kick just right, maybe, just maybe they'd get out of there. He yelled and ran at the door, giving it another might kick. The bar continued to bend, but not break.

Carson sat beside John, his head in his hands. John said nothing, but sat shoulder to shoulder with him, hoping he could convey some comfort by proximity. He could feel the other man shake, but had run out of words for him. So he sat, not moving, and hoped it was enough.

Lorne leaned against the wall, watching Ronon, offering unwonted advice. Everyone knew it was his way of keeping his mind occupied. Lorne didn't have quite as much cause to feel bitter as the rest of the team, but he knew enough and felt enough.

"Rodney was duped." Carson's voice was soft, and unexpected. Ronon stopped his kicks, and Lorne turned his head to the still figure, sitting with his head down.

"What?" John asked softly.

"It was a friend of his. He turned him in, or something. Said he knew him."

Sheppard shifted and grunted lightly. He focused his attention on the man beside him. "How do you know this?"

"He told me. His name is Joseiah Banneth. He's the one performing the operation. He said he knew Rodney, knew who he was, that Rodney had talked to him. He made the decision to put him in this situation."

John leaned his head back against the wall. "Dammit," he muttered.

"I'd love to get my hands on him."

"Did Rodney trust this guy?"

"I don't know. I only know what he told me. But I noticed paint on his finger. And yesterday I had noticed paint on Rodney."

"Paint?" John frowned.

"On his hand. He looked embarrassed and tried to rub it off."

"Huh. Wonder what they were up to?"

"Painting, by the sound of it," Ronon remarked impatiently and gave the door another kick. Lorne suggested he kick higher.

What puzzled them was the fact that, one, the door was giving way, and two, no one had come to see what the commotion was. No one commented on this. It would break what little luck they'd had so far.

Two more kicks and the door fell down with a loud clatter.

Ronon leaped out, ready to attack anyone that ran at them, but there was no one around. He whipped around, lips pulled back in a snarl, and actually straightened in disappointment.

Sheppard poked his head out behind Lorne. "Huh."

"This is odd," Carson agreed.

"Let's take advantage of it." Ronon led the way down the hall.

"Carson, wait," John stopped Beckett, "were you sent here by this Banneth person?"

"Yes."

"So he knew where we were."

"Apparently."

John's eyes narrowed. "So . . .do you think maybe we were put here on purpose?"

Carson looked puzzled. "How do you mean?"

"I mean, where we could escape and maybe attempt a rescue?"

Carson, in his anxiety, had pulled away and stared walking to catch up with the others. He stopped again, and turned. "You - you mean to say Banneth _wants _Rodney to be rescued?"

"You said they were friends."

"I did, didn't I?"

"You coming?" Ronon was waiting down the hall. The two men followed quickly.

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Teyla rounded the corner, and jumped back as two men passed by her. They were intent on their discussion, looking much like the excited scientist back on Atlantis when they were close to solving a puzzle. She waited until they passed, and continued on. There was an elevator, and she swallowed hard, preparing herself, and entered. The metal box lowered.

It took a moment for her to regain her senses from the plummet, but she managed. The doors opened and she walked out, holding her stomach, wondering why this particular elevator seemed so much faster. Had she pressed something wrong? It ocurred to her that the word elevate in this sense had nothing to do with raising the outer body to a different level, but more raising the inner contents. She swallowed hard and focused on the scene before her.

It looked like a weapons armory. Teyla frowned and cautiously walked to the rail.

There were levels upon levels in an area that seemed too large for the building to hold it. She was definitely underground. The catwalk groaned slightly as she moved, heading toward the far edge where she could see into one of the storage units that crowded the room. She wiped at the grime, and looked in.

A pair of eyes looked back at her. Into her.

She gasped and pulled back, her hand again flying to hold her queasy stomach. She eyed the massive array of units that lined the walls, backing away. She bolted into the elevator and headed up, trying to shake the image from her mind, trying to focus on finding the colonel to tell him, to find Rodney and rescue him.

Finding the precise floor where Rodney was being held was difficult. She had never been in the building before, but knew he was there judging by the rooms and equipment she had discovered during her search. She was no scientist, but she recognized some of the technology as being similar as to what Dr. Beckett had in his labs, so she assumed she was heading in the right direction. Her sense of desperation fueled her.

Two more elevator trips, two more floors. Each one looking like the next until she felt as though she wasn't really traveling at all. Should she go back down, did she miss a level? What if she missed a room? What if he were below, and she kept going up? Had she been here before? Did she go down when she meant to go up? Two additional trips, and she was more disoriented than she had ever been in her life, and for someone who prided herself on her tracking skills back at the village, that was disconcerting indeed. She had always possessed a keen sense of direction, but this . . .this was running in circles.

She opened a door and looked in. More machines. The next held the same, and the one after. All not in use. Maybe the building was abandoned. Maybe she was wrong, and this wasn't where Rodney was at all. Maybe this was a storage facility for their equipment. Maybe she thought she saw those two men, whose starched white outfits blended with the purity of the walls. Still, as long as she kept going up . . .

The next floor looked the same. And the next. And the next . . .

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Where to?" John asked as he closed the elevator.

"Uh . . .2A."

John studied the control and pressed a button. The elevator soared, practically throwing them to the floor, and making John yell out against the pressure. Carson grabbed his arm, then his shoulders, bracing him against the back wall until the ascent stopped.

Their exit from the elevator wasn't unnoticed. A shout was heard, and several men ran down the hall.

"Go!" John yelled at Carson, pushing him away from the elevator. Carson needed no further persuasion. He launched himself down the hallway, hearing the sounds of fighting behind him, knowing it was doing John no good and that he would have to patch the man up afterwards.

He skidded in front of the door and stared at the number pad. "Okay, okay, think man! What was it?" He strained to remember the numbers that had been punched in when he first saw the room, and settled for trying to remember the pattern. Upper right corner, lower left, lower left, center, something like that. He started pressing combination after combination, and jumped when hands grabbed him from behind.

Enraged, Carson propelled himself backwards and slammed the body behind him into the wall. He turned and delivered a punch to the jaw, watching the man crumple. His ankle was grabbed tightly before he could back away and he tumbled, then felt a heavy body on top of his, pinning him, preventing him from moving as he yelled out for help. Instinct made him call for John. He amended that and yelled for Ronon as he was flipped over, feeling his arms twisted behind him, wondering what it was that made their geneticists so apt at hand to hand combat. Enhancements, of course. Dammit to hell!

He heard a bellow and saw a large form running toward him. He felt the weight on his back shift, and figured the man on top of him was contemplating his immediate future. The weight was knocked away, and Carson scrambled to his feet, not even looking to see if Ronon was really beating the crap out of the man. The numbers danced before him, and he picked a combination. The door clicked.

"Carson!" Ronon tossed something at him. A weapon. Good god . . .

He charged in and aimed. "Stop what you're doing, now!"

The scientists froze.

"Back away! Now, I said!"

They slowly stepped back, obviously not wanting to, but having no choice. Carson was well aware that, if they rushed him, he wouldn't stand a chance. He could see the idea playing across a few faces and kept his weapon in constant motion, circling it from person to person as he walked to Rodney's side.

He was strapped down, still pale. There was evidence of punctures. He was connected to three machines. Carson conducted as much of an exam as he could, then looked up. "Everyone out of here! Go!" He aimed, his grip shaky but determined.

One man lunged, and Carson fired out of panic. His victim fell, gripping his chest. _Oh bloody hell_ . . .

The others started to scream, and Carson felt arms wrap around him from behind, slamming him face first into the wall. The gun clattered to the floor.

"No one move!" John was suddenly there, and Ronon, and Lorne behind him. Weapons were raised, confiscated from, what, the guards? Doctors? He didn't know anymore, and he no longer cared. The man who held him grabbed his hair and slammed his head against the wall before he jerked from a shot to the back. Both men tumbled to the ground.

Carson felt someone pull him up, and he forced his way through the pain and dizziness to Rodney's bedside. To his shock, the man was beginning to stir. "Rodney!" Carson looked around quickly, and patted the man's cheek roughly. "Oh good lord, say you're okay, say they didn't do anything to you. Say there wasn't time for it."

"Doc?" John's gun was aimed at the last of the people retreating.

"I don't know, Rodney? Rodney!" Carson winced at the machines, tracing the wires to the anchors in his friend's arms. "Come on, man, wake up now."

"He is fine."

The new voice shot through the speakers. A window lit above them, and in it was Joseiah Banneth.

"What do you mean? What are these machines? What about these wounds?" Carson pointed to the slight scarring on Rodney's upper torso.

"Placebo. You may disconnect him." Carson just stared at him dumbly, then quickly started to disconnect the machines.

John lowered his weapon, just slightly. "What are you talking about, placebo? Are you saying this was falsified?"

"I'm saying, I couldn't go through with this. It was never really my intention." Joseiah smiled sadly. "I put on a grand show for The Block, but they will find out."

Carson shook his head in confusion as he unhooked the machines, looking from the window back to Rodney. "I don't understand."

"Your friend reminded me of something I once had. Oh, I fought the Block for a while, and lost my way. I want it back."

"Want what back?" John asked cautiously.

And again Joesiah smiled. "Freedom."

Carson was getting a very, very bad feeling. Rodney shifted underneath his hand with a groan, and his attention turned to his patient. "Hey, there! Easy, easy. I don't know what they gave you, how are you feeling?" He waited until blue eyes showed between slits before allowing himself to relax. "Rodney?"

"Carson?" The voice was weak, and confused.

John couldn't help but smile at the voice. "Hey, buddy!" He crossed the room, still keeping an eye on Banneth, and hovered over Carson's shoulder. "How ya feeling?"

Rodney winced. ". . .shit. Do the words 'Mack Truck' mean anything to you?"

John and Carson exchanged a relieved glance. Even Ronon relaxed slightly as he stood guard at the door.

Rodney took a deep breath and opened his eyes wider. From his position, he could see Joseiah standing in the window. His brows drew together in puzzlement as Joseiah smiled down on him. "I'm glad you are awake, my friend," he said.

Rodney stared up at the man from his bed. "What's going on?" he asked weakly.

"I am a genetist, remember?"

"You mean," Rodney started to take in his surroundings. His brain almost visibly tried to fit together the pieces. It was obvious that the result was confusion. "Right." He tried to sit up, and gave a quick yelp of pain as he put pressure on his right arm. Carson carefully took it, noticing the bruising. He looked up at Joseiah in question.

"The Block will be here shortly," was all the man said. "I suggest you take your leave from this place."

"Someone's coming," Ronon snapped, and jumped into the hall, his weapon aimed and ready. But it lowered quickly, and his smile shown for miles around.

Teyla hesitated for just a moment before pushing past him and into the room. Seeing that everyone was present and accounted for, she sighed grateful and smiled, allowing herself to slump back against Ronon. "I had feared the worst." Behind them, the hall filled with Lorne's team, whom she had found during her frantic search for her own friends.

"Oh, love," Carson was giddy with relief that he hadn't killed her, after all. "How did you get out?"

"It seems my cell was poorly designed."

"Which you had something to do with, right?" John asked Joseiah.

Joseiah nodded, and his expression turned serious. "Go. They are coming, and will not be civil. You know too much. You are in true danger, go now."

"No, wait, you have to come with us." Rodney's voice startled them all. He pushed himself up on his elbows, and sat up with Carson's help.

Joseiah shook his head. "I can't."

There was something in those words that gave Carson a chill. The ill feeling that had plagued him earlier, returned. He grabbed Rodney by the shoulders. "Let's go."

Rodney felt it too. "No, wait."

"Rodney, they're coming."

"No!" Rodney shrugged off the grip. "Joseiah, come with us, please. You can't stay here."

Again he shook his head. "I have one more task to complete. My masterpiece. It will stun the world, I promise. Do this one thing for me. Go back home. I'll be fine, I'm not alone."

Rodney wasn't in the mood for this. "No, dammit, get your ass down here!" A wave of dizziness assaulted him, and he fell back against the bed.

"Get him out of here," Joseiah insisted.

John took one arm as Carson took the other. Rodney followed. They didn't hear the gunshot until they were in the hall, and Rodney collapsed to his knees in grief.


	7. Chapter 7

_The soft overcomes the hard._

_The slow overcomes the fast._

_Let your workings remain a mystery._

_Just show people the results._

_- Tao Te Ching 36_

They hurried down the hall, Rodney babbling about paintings, colored curves and spirals, and things that made no sense to them. Teyla held her unfamiliar weapon ready, having confiscated it from the armed men she had taken down. Some of the weapons retrieved were there own. The other weapons the colonel was familiar enough with to provide a quick demonstration. Carson and John supported Rodney between them as Lorne and his men launched ahead, Teyla and Ronon bringing up the rear.

John kept giving Carson questioning looks over Rodney's babble. "What's he talking about?"

"You've spent more time with him here than me, Colonel," Carson panted.

John winced. "No, not really."

Teyla surveyed the area behind them as they pressed on. She listened to the babble, and something clicked. "Curves, spirals. . ." she joined Sheppard, "the room where I was talking with Premier Anaise. It was decorated as such, only no colors."

John glanced at her. "Strange. Not as boring as the rest of the city?"

"It was very soothing. Perhaps Rodney saw the same." They hurried on, and outside. John made certain Carson had a grip on Rodney and charged to the front of the line as the outer doors became visible.

The building was surrounded.

John skidded to a halt, hearing the others stop behind him. He saw Rodney cringe, supported by Carson, his right arm tucked close to his body. Carson's eyes were wide with disbelief. Ronon looked pissed, and Teyla and Lorne were ready to take them all down. Seeing the two assume an offensive posture made John smile, even though he knew there was no use in it. They stood behind them, and Ronon followed suit. Rodney and Carson stayed back.

Legit Barial stepped forward. At his signal, weapons were raised. Soldiers, workers, scientists, everyone had a weapon. The sunlight reflected off the surfaces and glinted reflections in the buildings. The mirrored sides made the army look like millions.

"I believe you have something that belongs to us," the legit said calmly, and smiled.

"I doubt it," John aimed.

Teyla readied her stance. "There was never an agreement between us. You forfeited any right to negotiate."

"But I have evidence." Barial held up a disk that looked like the one Carson had shown back in the infirmary on Atlantis.

"What you have is an interpretation," she said. "I believe the fact that Dr. McKay is with us and not back in your laboratory shows where his desires lay."

The legit gave a quick smile. "You don't understand. He has what we need, what we require, in order to survive as a society. And if we can use his, we can use others."

It was as much of a threat as was possible to give, without attacking them out right. "No, we don't understand," John said. "Explain yourself."

Legit Barial walked as he talked, almost casually. "Our enhancements have progressed to the level where we can no longer support our needs. There is no more to give."

"Bloody DNA vampires," Carson muttered.

"There are those that are too far gone to continue the appropriate level of production. Therefore they will be used to operate the weapons systems we are creating."

"They are in storage," Teyla said softly. "I saw them." John looked at her, startled, but she never wavered.

"So these people are using their peculiar genetic code to activate and control the weapons, much like the drones and that damned chair," Carson supplied.

"You mentioned a war," John continued. "What war?"

The legit spread his hands. "Why, with everyone! We have our needs. If the visitors will stop coming to us, then we must go to them."

Teyla narrowed her eyes. "That is why you must conduct trade on those screens in such an impersonal manner. No one will come here, will they?"

"Not if they are going to be 'assimilated'. Rodney was right all along." John shook his head and tightened his grip on his weapon. "You really are insane. I was almost ready to feel sorry for you."

The legit smiled. "You don't understand." He took a step forward. "Life is a linear thing. There are no detours, it is just a straight line to the end. That's what we are. We produce. We press forward, ever further and further down that line until we reach the end. And in the end, what is there? Another line. We follow that one until it runs out." He held out his hands. "We have traveled all of the lines, Colonel. What is left for us?"

John was about to open his mouth when a commotion started. The men behind him grabbed Carson and Rodney. A thick arm caught him around the neck, and Ronon was in the same position. Lorne was on the ground, and Teyla was held by a man twice her size. There was no doubt they were fast. He didn't even realize he had lost his weapon until it was gone.

He struggled against the grip. The legit walked up to him, and spoke face to face. "We will take what is ours. We have no choice. Only now, I believe you have volunteered as well." He turned. "As all of you have. Take them."

John growled in anger and struggled as he was forced around. That was when he noticed the second commotion.

A small child was running toward them, yelling that something had happened. Something terrible.

It was the first child John had seen on the planet. That the children were hidden hadn't even occurred to him until then, or that they had regenerated themselves so many times that there were no children left. All had grown, all were proceeding as they had for ages. This child looked too new, and totally out of place.

The legit just stared at the child. The people surrounding them backed away, confused, apparently this thing shouldn't exist. John didn't know what was meant by the message, but the legit looked worried, then puzzled. The people continued to back away, then headed quickly down the street. John and the others were propelled along, and as they came closer to the cause of the commotion, the grips that held them lessened in astonishment. They found themselves between the two large towers that bordered their initial entrance, where they were released. They forced their way to the front.

It looked as though the whole of the city of Atlantis had come through the gate looking for them. A wall of marines stood before the gate, but that wasn't what had the people in a panic. It was the gate itself.

It was different. It was massive.

And it was round.

The people stared at it, muttering in a terrified tone. Rodney pulled away from Carson and stepped forward, feeling something that he couldn't recognize, not until the small child that had run screaming the news of change approached him.

The eyes were scarily familiar. In one small, pink hand he held a painting. Rodney's sea. And in the other hand, he held a red flower.

Rodney swallowed and slowly took both, unable to believe he what he was seeing. He managed an uncertain smile.

And young Joseiah Banneth grinned back.

"What has happened?" Legit Barial whispered. He looked at the child, and stared at the circular stargate, which looked so out of place in amongst the harsh lines, so fluid and natural. Much larger than life. Frightening.

"How?" Rodney whispered to the child. Joseiah just gave an impish shrug.

John walked up to stand shoulder to shoulder with Rodney. "I don't know," he answered, though the question wasn't directed at him. He looked around at the people. The crowd had fallen silent. And as John watched them, he began to notice more of their surroundings.

Everything was covered with paint. Swirls, circles, waves, the colors softened the buildings and cut the glass windows into different angles that cast a rainbow of color over the gate. The people were awestruck. Even the legit had no words.

Carson joined John and Rodney, eyeing the scene around them. "You know something?" he said quietly. "I don't believe they are too far gone after all."

Teyla joined them as well, and caught the eye of a woman she recognized, Premier Anaise Barial, who nodded at her with a smile, and extended her hand, though she stood far away.

Teyla slowly reached out her hand, palm upward. A small rainbow reflected on her palm. She looked at the legit, and walked over to him, then gently took his hand. She upturned it, and extended it until he too was holding the fluid color in his hand. And he tightly curled his hand around it, closing it in, but the light traveled through and stayed on the tops of his fingers.

"You," he muttered softly, "you have ruined us." More hands were extending, mesmerized. They caught the color carefully.

"It wasn't us," Rodney said, just as softly, looking at the rejuvenated Banneth. He handed his painting of the sea to the legit.

Barial blinked, and took it.

John exhaled gently. "Well," he said, "I think they just found the bend in that road."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Rodney couldn't do it again. It pissed him off.

He was standing on a lone balcony. His canvas was boldly white against the backdrop of waves. Hell, maybe he could call it white water rafting in a snowstorm. He cursed and shoved the easel to the floor. "I can't do this." His paints were flung down, still capped. His brush was dry. He felt very much like he was trying to catch the fragment of a dream. The terror of someone walking in and finding him probably didn't help, there was still no way in hell he was ready to own up to the fact that he enjoyed this. Or did. But then they knew he liked to play the piano. Or did. So it would fall to reason that he would pick up another hobby, one he had taken rather strongly to.

Or did.

Snippets of conversations ran through his busy mind, not allowing the creativity in. He remembered earlier that afternoon with Radek, blasting him like the fool he was, yet wasn't, then tearing out of the lab in irritation only to be stopped by Colonel Sheppard. He winced and rubbed his forehead as he recalled the conversation.

"_Hey, Rodney!"_

"_Colonel." Rodney kept walking, not slowing in his step, forcing John to keep up with him, hoping the encounter would be quick. But the colonel was good at ignoring blatant hints._

"_Hey. Hey!" John managed to catch hold of Rodney's arm, pulling him to a frustrated stop. "You feeling okay?"_

"_I'm fine, colonel. You can let go now." He tried to tug away from the firm grip._

_John's eyes narrowed. "You're avoiding me."_

"_I am not!"_

"_Oh yes you are." He gave a smug smile, then the hurt showed. "Why?"_

"_I'm not . . .I just have work to do." Rodney's whole body breathed exasperation, but John didn't care._

"_Meaning you're avoiding me!" John wasn't letting Rodney go. "Seriously, what's up?"_

"_Nothing! I'm busy, for a change."_

"_Beckett says you missed your checkup."_

_Rodney snorted. "Yeah, well, I'm sure he's got more important things to do." He tugged away and resumed walking._

_John matched his stride. "I think you should go."_

"_Funny you should phrase it that way, 'cause I think you should butt out!" Rodney slowed, then stopped, lowering his head in a sense of shame. He looked up. "I-I'm sorry. That was . . ."_

"_That was the increasingly short-temper that Radek warned me about. Not that it isn't your norm, but still."_

"_What's that supposed to mean? Wait, Radek called you?"_

"_You think I'm here for my health?"_

"_That asshole. Sorry for your wasted trip." And Rodney stormed on, in a worse mood, because would it kill the man to just admit he was checking up on a friend?_

_John followed doggedly. "Look, something's happened."_

"_A lot happened, colonel. I just want to be left alone."_

_John took his measure, and nodded. "Fine. You know where I am."_

_It was as close to an offer to talk as Rodney was willing to accept. "Yeah. Thanks."_

_He started to go, then turned. "Wait. Colonel."_

"_Yeah?"_

_He was hesitant to say anything. "We were obsessed with their society, blinded by it. Why?"_

_John paused, and shrugged. "It looked good, on the surface, all professional and shiny and purposeful. Everyone there was so into what they were doing, it was easy to get sucked in."_

"_But I wasn't doing anything."_

"_Apparently you were." John cocked his head slightly, wishing he knew what was going on in Rodney's head. "Just not the same thing as us."_

"_No, I mean, they wouldn't let me do anything! Why?"_

"_Look, they probably planned this the moment they laid eyes on you." John smiled. "You're the cynic. You're the one that would have figured out what was going on long before there was a danger from it. Of course they kept you from the labs. They knew of all people, you'd fit the pieces together."_

"_As flattering as that sound, it seems like they know much more about me than I let on. That's very . . .disconcerting."_

"_I know." John's expression was troubled. "Makes me wonder what they really do know."_

"_May not matter, now." Rodney's eyes cut to the side, eyeing the corridor wall. He nodded. "See you later."_

_John raised his chin. "See ya."_

The memory faded into white as he stared at the canvas. Of course they both knew there would be a visit at some point during the night, just like Rodney knew deep down that his friend really was just checking up on him, and reluctant to admit it. But for now, he need to work some things out. Rodney's thoughts drifted back to Joseiah as he contemplated his blank canvas.

"_Sheppard and I kept going out onto the balcony to watch the weapons explode against the shield." The sky above him darkened once again. "It was the most beautiful and terrifying thing I'd ever seen."_

"_War is poetic," Joseiah agreed. "But it still leaves people dead._"

Was Joseiah dead? Did he really find a way to breathe life back into himself? They were genetic experts. Anything was possible.

War is poetic, he had said. Rodney glanced behind him at the small red flower that sat on the floor in a glass vase. It showed no signs of wilting, even after four days. "Damned hippie," he muttered, and returned his attention to the blank canvas.

He didn't know if the society had gotten the message. He didn't even know what the message was. Make love not war? Rainbows, not bombs? Hey you, watch out for that bend in the road?

His Alice in Wonderland had turned rather quickly into a bad rendition of Jesus Christ Superstar.

His brush was flung down like the paints before it, his temper growing, the irritation mounting at the simple fact that this was a puzzle he would never solve. "What was the point of this?" he yelled out to no one. "For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction! Come on, simple physics here!" Joseiah was dead. Wasn't he? The waves crashed below him, offering no answers.

_I never actually saw him kill himself. I just heard a gun._

_What if it wasn't a gun?_

He thought back to his arrival, rather his return, to Atlantis. After his release from the infirmary he had stood on this very balcony and looked up, trying not to get vertigo. The spires of the city shot straight up to the sky in long lines, yet they were graceful lines, each one bending slightly to curve into another until it tapered to a fine point, stretching toward the heavens. It had occurred to him that there was very little on the city that was rigid. The corridors were curved. The spacecraft were curved. The sharp, black lines that shattered plain window glass into a mosaic were tempered by color. He never realized how balanced the station seemed, how soothing it was, even when abused by storms, or weapons fire. The city was dignified, and carried herself well, and it was something he had always taken at face value. He gave his head a firm shake. _I'm going soft._

_Is that child really _. . .

It was too much. Damn Joseiah Banneth and his quest for change. Even Rodney had suffered from it, and he wasn't sure it was for the better.

But one thing was certain. He had to go back, and find out. . .

_Some men are afraid of the art they create..._

One day. He had to know. He picked up his brush, touched the canvas, took a deep breath, and began to paint.


End file.
